


keep my eyes to serve and my hands to learn

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, badass river and prophetic eleven, happy river song appreciation day, lots of swords and snark, seer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11056365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: “Hello sweetie,” she purrs. “Expecting me?”The Seer eyes her calmly, apparently unruffled. “Hours ago.” He tsks at her like she’s nothing more than an unruly child, the burden of ages gone from his eyes as though it had never been. “You’re late.”





	1. they used to shout my name now they whisper it

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kaz for reading this over for me x
> 
> Story title from Below My Feet by Mumford and Sons. Chapter title from Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde.

It’s dusk when her men invade the city and she uses the fading light to her advantage, cutting down everyone in her path as darkness falls. Her sword flashes in the red and orange glow of the setting sun and around her, the sounds of battle are music to her ears. The clang of weapons, the battle cry of her men, the crackle of fire as homes burn, and the screams of unprepared villagers as they fall like raindrops around her.

 

River drinks it in, pausing in the middle of the chaos to tip back her head and breathe in the fresh scent of victory. She allows herself only a moment, knowing the job is not yet done. As much as she enjoys a good skirmish, she hadn’t invaded the unsuspecting city for her own entertainment. Somewhere in this godforsaken rubble, the Seer is hiding.

 

Stepping over broken bodies, River stoops gracefully to wipe her bloodied blade on the tunic of some poor sod lying in the street. She feels the spatter of blood drying on her face but she pays it no mind, scanning the streets silently.

 

“My Lady?”

 

She tilts her head in acknowledgement of the voice but doesn’t turn around. Though Ramone considers himself her personal bodyguard, she has no real need for him. It’s been a long time since she has needed anyone to look after her. Ignoring his hovering, eager presence behind her, River narrows her eyes at a small house in the distance. In the window, a candle still flickers.

 

She smiles. “This way.”

 

As she slinks through the streets, cutting down anyone who gets in her way, her gaze never leaves that candle in the window. From what she’s heard of this Seer, he’s the best there is. Bit mad, of course, but that’s to be expected when one has constant visions of the future. According to rumor, he’s still sane enough to communicate and interpret his visions without babbling like a lunatic. Since her last Seer had gone raving mad and River had been forced to slit his throat to stop the screaming, sanity is quite high on her list of demands.

 

When they reach the squat blue house at the end of a narrow street where her intel has assured her the Seer lives, she steps aside and allows Ramone to break down the door. She’s perfectly capable of doing it herself but it makes him feel useful, which she finds is the best way to keep him quiet. The door cracks and splinters under Ramone’s boot, giving way and crashing to the floor with a thunderous _boom_.

 

Stepping inside ahead of her best soldier, River keeps her hand poised on the hilt of her sword. She peers around cautiously, expecting a fight. Seers tend to be erratic creatures and she’s fully prepared to wrestle a knife from this one and carry him off kicking and screaming.

 

To her astonishment, when her gaze finally lands on the Seer he isn’t cowering in the corner brandishing a candlestick. He’s sitting in front of the fire, his head bowed and his shoulders slouched. His brown hair flops into his eyes and droops over his forehead. The shadows cast by the firelight make his angular face even more striking. He looks defeated already.

 

River clears her throat and he lifts his head, his eyes locking instantly with hers. Her breath catches. He’s younger than she had expected but there is a certain weariness in the set of his mouth and the lines around his eyes that speaks of more horrors than most will ever see. The Seer is a young man but looking at him in that moment, River can see nothing but the weight of his years.

 

She tightens her grip around her sword and grits her teeth, forcing aside her unease. It isn’t her job to worry about the mental health of her Seer. As long as he isn’t rocking back and forth in the corner in the fetal position then he’s a damn sight better than the last. She offers him her very best predatory grin – the ferocious one with too much teeth and just a touch of madness that never fails to make gods and kings alike flinch.

 

“Hello sweetie,” she purrs. “Expecting me?”

 

The Seer eyes her calmly, apparently unruffled. “Hours ago.” He _tsks_ at her like she’s nothing more than an unruly child, the burden of ages gone from his eyes as though it had never been. “You’re late.”

 

River falters, her smile frozen on her face as she blinks at him.

 

The Seer smirks. “I’d have thought a Queen would have better manners. Didn’t your fancy royal tutors instruct you on time management?”

 

Behind her, Ramone growls, muttering about insolent peasants, but River ignores him and shrugs lightly. “You know how it is. People never surrender peacefully anymore.” She wrinkles her nose. “So much death and paperwork.”

 

To her satisfaction, the Seer finally betrays that tranquil façade and flinches.

 

She tosses her matted curls over her shoulder, eyeing him coolly. “And my tutors were far more interested in teaching me how to use a sword than proper teatime etiquette.”

 

“That explains the horrifying slaughter you seem to have brought with you,” he snaps, and that bitterness creeps back into his eyes again but he doesn’t let her glimpse it for long. Recovering himself admirably, the Seer casts a glance at his shattered front door. “And it certainly explains your appalling lack of manners. Just so we’re clear for next time, you’re meant to knock first.”

 

Stifling her annoyance at both his belligerence and irritating lack of terror, River bites back a growl and lifts her chin. “If you can really see the future like they say you can, you’ll know privacy is no longer something that belongs to you.” She tilts her head, grinning. “Welcome to Her Majesty’s army, sweetie.”

 

She glances over her shoulder, ignoring the Seer’s unimpressed stare. Ramone waits dutifully just behind her, hand over the hilt of his sword and glare trained on their newest addition. “Take our prisoner to his waiting horse,” she orders, and he nods, stepping forward.

 

The Seer leaps to his feet, for once showing an emotion that doesn’t range between quiet fury and boredom as he backs into a corner with his hands held up. He’s taller than River had expected – long and lanky and carrying the air of one who might tumble to his death by tripping over his own feet. “Wait,” he says, his voice high with panic. “Don’t touch me.”

 

River raises an eyebrow, startled. “I think you’ll find I’ll do whatever I like with you, Seer.”

 

He shakes his head, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. It’s the same noise River makes when she finds everyone around her to be too dull and stupid to keep up with her. Being on the receiving end of such a noise sets her teeth on edge.

 

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “I mean you _can’t_ touch me. My ability – it demands I starve myself of all human contact. It’s the only way my foresight remains intact. Which I’m assuming is the reason why I’m about to be kidnaped from my own home.”

 

River surveys him wonderingly, ignoring Ramone’s puzzled glances between them. “So the rumors are true,” she breathes, watching as the Seer trembles before her, an open wound of indignation and vulnerability. “Fascinating.”

 

“Maybe for you,” he snaps, his hazel eyes flashing. “For me it is my life. My burden. One I must bear alone and one you will respect if you want a chance to win your silly _battles_.”

 

His lip curls in disgust, as though an entire kingdom doesn’t hang in the balance. As though she’s abducting him to help her win a schoolyard game rather than a violent, bloody war in the name of her people. Ramone steps forward, ready as ever to defend her, but River swats him away with a sigh.

 

“Very well. You’ll remain as virginal as we found you, Seer.” She lets her eyes linger on him a moment too long, just to watch him squirm and blush. “Pity.”

 

Behind her, Ramone scowls. “Your Highness, if we cannot touch him then how will we get him to come with us?”

 

“Easy.” River smirks, studying her new Seer and knowing as she takes in his desperate eyes and soft mouth that her intel had assessed him correctly. Weak. Tender-hearted to a fault. He _cares_. “We’ve left the women and children alive. Follow us peacefully and they remain untouched. Give us any trouble and we’ll slaughter them one by one on our way out.”

 

The Seer swallows, his eyes falling shut in defeat. “No need for that.” He holds up his hands in surrender and River’s appraising eyes notice that they don’t tremble in the slightest. “Lead the way, _Your Majesty_.”

 

-

 

Once they arrive safely at her camp, the Queen orders him to be delivered to her tent. The Seer bites his tongue and allows himself to be poked and prodded in the back by the tip of a sword as her dull-witted right hand man Ramone ushers him in the direction of the royal tent. It’s nothing but plain canvas on the outside but he’s slowly beginning to understand that Queen River is not to be underestimated.

 

The inside of her quarters is downright lavish. Plush rugs have been laid out across the ground, a mattress with luxurious sheets and blankets has been set up in one corner of the tent. Another corner holds a tall chest of drawers out of which spills material ranging from the sheer fabric of colorful gowns to the shining chain mail of battle gear. A table stands in the center of the tent, a few chairs arranged around it. A bowl of fruit sits in the middle, slightly askew. Probably set off-kilter by the vast array of weaponry that had been dumped onto the table.

 

Standing at the entrance to the makeshift quarters, the Seer huffs out a noise of irritation. Her Majesty the Queen had in her possession a tent bigger than his entire home. “If she were a man, I’d say she was compensating,” he mutters, eyeing the opulent setup with distaste.

 

Ramone digs the blade into his back and the Seer scowls, swatting at him and inching away. “You’ll speak of Her Majesty with respect.”

 

The Seer huffs his fringe out of his eyes, stifling a snort of laughter. “Awfully loyal, aren’t you?”

 

Ramone frowns. “She’s my Queen.”

 

“She’s nothing more than a soldier with a crown.”

 

With a snarl, Ramone pins him between the tent canvas and the tip of his sword. The cold metal presses into his skin in warning and Ramone’s brown eyes narrow but the Seer only stares at him, unblinking. “Hold your tongue or I’ll cut it out and hold it for you.”

 

The Seer squints at him. “As interesting a picture as you paint, I know you won’t hurt me. I’ve seen it.”

 

Ramone’s lip curls. “Then perhaps you’re not as prophetic as my Lady imagines.”

 

“Ah, careful.” The Seer taps his fingertips against the blade held at his throat, almost enjoying their confrontation. Nothing cheers him up like arguing with a fool. He smirks. “That’s very nearly treason, I should think.”

 

With a snarl, Ramone drops the sword back to his side. “Don’t even think about moving, Seer. The Queen will join you shortly.”

 

Just to see the other man twitch with rage again, the Seer bows mockingly.

 

With an angry curse under his breath, Ramone turns on his heel and stalks off.

 

Turning back to face the Queen’s temporary quarters again, the Seer scans her belongings for something interesting but his eyes barely alight upon a battered blue book lying on her bed before the woman herself strides into the tent. A portly fellow, a slender brunette, and a grizzled old man trail behind her – servants by the look of them.

 

She pays the Seer no notice as she goes about shedding her armor, dropping each blood-stained piece with carelessness. “They’ll need cleaned, Evangelista.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.” The young brunette and the bald portly one follow in her wake, picking up each piece of armor to be polished. To the Seer’s astonishment, she doesn’t stop at only shedding that outer layer. She strips out of her underthings as well, pulling utilitarian garments over her head and tossing them aside.

 

The Seer gulps, catching a glimpse of tanned flesh in the form of a well-muscled but curvaceously feminine body before he pointedly looks away. The servants disappear with the Queen’s clothing but the old man doesn’t leave, hovering over her like a protective grandfather until she sighs and swats at him. “I’m fine, Doctor. Not a scratch.”

 

He frowns, his weathered face creasing as he studies her intently. “But all that blood-”

 

“Not mine.” She pouts. “You should know better by now.”

 

“I worry.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re careless.”

 

“I’m efficient.” She pats his grizzled cheek and nudges him toward the exit, both of them apparently unconcerned with her nudity. “And I know I’ve always got my war Doctor to look after me. So go on then and heal someone who needs it.”

 

After the so-called War Doctor leaves her tent, the Queen turns around again and the Seer keeps his eyes carefully averted as she wanders about her tent without a stitch on. It’s only when he hears the sound of water that he risks a quick peek and finds the Queen dipping a washcloth into a basin, wiping away traces of blood that had seeped beneath her armor or spattered across her face.

 

She tips back her head and wipes the cloth along her neck and collarbones and the dip between her breasts. The Seer flushes scarlet and looks away again, staring fixedly at his boots. She doesn’t try to speak and though he would ordinarily trip all over himself to fill the silence, nothing at all comes to mind. Ears burning, he stands in the corner and listens to the sound of splashing water while the glorified war criminal washes away her sins.

 

Evangelista and the stocky fellow he eventually learns is called Nardole continue to come and go, clearing the table in the center of the room. The weapons scattered across it are put away and a crisp tablecloth takes its place. Grateful for somewhere to look other than his shoes or the naked woman on the other side of the tent, the Seer watches as candles are lit and the table is set with platters of delicious smelling food.

 

The table is set only for two and he frowns, wondering who will be joining the Queen and what the bloody hell he’s supposed to do while she entertains her guest. He can’t help feeling a bit neglected. Considering he’d been kidnaped at the Queen’s behest, he’d been expecting a bit more attention. He _is_ the wisest Seer in Europe, after all.

 

Well, certainly the most sane.

 

Well.

 

The point is he’s a bloody hot commodity in wartime and he’d like at least a conversation about his duties and the chance to complain about the Queen’s violent methods. Honestly, he’d have acquiesced if she’d just asked nicely. Probably.

 

He’s really working himself up into a proper lather by the time the Queen has finished dressing. Or rather, thrown a thin silk dressing gown over her naked skin. It does little to protect her modesty and as she turns to face him, the Seer is frustrated to discover he still can’t manage to look at her without blushing. There is no denying the Queen is a beautiful woman – stunning, as a matter of fact – but she’s also a murderer. A slaughterer of thousands. And while he certainly isn’t as familiar as most with the female form, he likes to think himself above such base reactions after all this time.

 

Apparently not.

 

He stares at her hair for lack of anywhere else modest to look. It’s wilder than even the stories of her have said. It coils and spirals around her face and tumbles over her shoulders, even damp as it is from scrubbing the blood out of it. The Queen’s feral green eyes land on him and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He prepares himself to be tossed out and thrown in irons until he proves himself useful with a vision but to his utter bewilderment, the Queen banishes everyone from her tent with a growled order – everyone, at least, but him.

 

Evangelista doesn’t even glance at him as she leaves but to the Seer’s dismay, Nardole casts him a pitying glance full of sympathy on his way out. He scowls after him, crossing his arms over his chest. Once they’re alone, the Queen’s eyes move pointedly from him to the table heaped with food between them. “Sit.”

 

She doesn’t wait for him to comply, striding to the table and sinking into a chair. She picks up her plate and begins to help herself to a bit of just about everything and the Seer is left with no choice but to stand there staring stupidly at her or join her. He sits.

 

“Help yourself,” she says, picking up a leg of pheasant and biting into it. “You must be hungry, by the look of you.”

 

The Seer scowls, watching her devour her food with a warrior’s appetite. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

She eyes him from across the table, licking grease from her fingers with not a hint of the royalty supposedly in her blood. “You look as if a stiff wind might topple you. Nothing but bony limbs, you are.”

 

The Seer draws himself up to full height in his chair, spine stiff and shoulders straight. He sniffs. “I’m stronger than I look.”

 

Pausing with a spoonful of potatoes halfway to her mouth, the Queen’s lips curve into a curious smirk. “Pity you can’t prove that.”

 

The low teasing of her voice is enough to make him shudder and the Seer sets his jaw, clenching his teeth together. “Are we going to continue this farce -” He waves a hand at the feast before them, narrowing his eyes at her. “Or are you going to tell me what you want with me, Your Majesty?”

 

“Shouldn’t you already know?” She lifts a teasing brow at him and he glares, crossing his arms over his chest again. She sighs, reaching for her goblet of wine. “Down to business, is it?”

 

The Seer offers her a thin, cold smile. “If you don’t mind.”

 

Lifting her wine to her lips, the Queen takes a long sip and studies him over the rim of her goblet. They sit together in silence for a long moment, surveying each other through the flickering candles on the table. Her hair is beginning to dry in mad, tangled spirals and her lips are stained red from the wine. The Seer keeps his gaze locked on hers and doesn’t back down. Finally, the Queen sets aside her cup and says grudgingly, “You’re the best there is.”

 

Stifling a smug grin, the Seer lounges back in his chair and shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

 

She grits her teeth. “And I require your services.”

 

“I’d say you should buy me dinner first but…” He trails off, quirking a brow at the food spread out before him. “It appears you’ve done this before.”

 

He sees it just before she reacts, a quick flash in his mind and just enough time to duck before the bread roll sails right over his head and _slaps_ against the tent canvas behind him. The Seer straightens in his chair and tugs on his tunic.

 

“Rude,” he clucks. “And ill-thought out. Seer, remember?”

 

The Queen seethes, glowering at him. Her eyes are bright with fury and her cheeks are flushed in righteous indignation. The Seer hides a smile, pursing his lips. If nothing else, working alongside the Queen will at least prove to be entertaining. Jaw clenched, she hisses, “The lives of my people are on the line -”

 

“And what about the lives of everyone else?” He asks, amusement fading rapidly. He fixes her with a stern, solemn glance that seems to take her entirely by surprise. He very much doubts the Queen is used to being scolded but he imagines it’s about time someone did. “What about the lives of the men you killed just to reach me today? Or don’t they matter as much?”

 

She lifts her chin, eyeing him down her nose. “My duty is not to them.”

 

The Seer makes an impatient noise and drags a hand through his hair. “Your duty?”

 

“Yes,” she snaps, eyes flashing. “To protect and to serve my kingdom and its citizens-”

 

He breaks, slamming his fist against the table and rattling the cutlery. “If you cared so damn much about your people then you wouldn’t have spent the last thirty years dragging them into one war after another-”

 

The Queen snarls and her wine splashes in his face before he even sees it coming. She stands over him, empty wine goblet clutched in her white-knuckled fist and her green eyes on fire. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, voice wavering dangerously. “And you’ll do well to shut your mouth about things you’ll never understand, Seer.”

 

He refuses to look away, even as he calmly picks up a cloth napkin from the table and dabs at his face with it. “Suppose those tutors never taught you to control your temper either,” he mutters.

 

The Queen falters, apparently having expected more of a reaction. She blinks at him, head tilted and unruly curls brushing her shoulder. “No,” she finally answers, still staring at him like he’d grown another appendage right before her eyes. The fight fades from her expression and she sinks slowly back into her chair. “I suppose it went against their interests.”

 

It’s his turn to tilt his head now, intrigued.

 

The Queen catches the confusion knit across his brow and snaps her gaze away, swallowing. When she speaks again, her voice has gone cold. “While you remain in my service, you’ll be safe. Which is more than I can say for most in these times. You are to focus your visions on winning this war and report every single one to me. In vivid detail. Is that clear?”

 

He sinks back into his chair and defiantly flicks wine-stained fringe out of his eyes. “Perfectly.”

 

She nods once, returning her attention to her cooling dinner. “And you’ll be sleeping here with me.”

 

His heart leaps into his throat. “I don’t-” He chokes, flushing. “I can’t -”

 

The Queen rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry your pretty chaste head, Seer. You’ll sleep on a bedroll on the other side of the tent.” She sets her goblet to rights and reaches for the cask of wine to her right, continuing absently, “I want nothing from you but your gift.”

 

Blush still staining the tips of his ears, he snorts bitterly. “Is that what you call it? A gift?”

 

She pauses in the midst of licking more grease from her fingers. “What else would you call the ability to see the future?”

 

“You mean seeing men die?” He asks, meeting her gaze steadily. “Watching wars waged and smelling death every night in my sleep? I call it what it is, Your Majesty. A curse.”


	2. it feels like forever when your mind turns to fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone around the table leans forward, gazing raptly at the Seer as though about to see a magic trick. Eyes fastened on him, River asks curiously, “What does it feel like?”
> 
> “Painful,” he snaps, still wincing. “Like my brain is really hot soup. No, that’s rubbish. Forget that. It’s not like that at all. Now shush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from For 12 by Other Lives.

To the consternation of her advisors, River insists on including the Seer in plotting their attack on the Aplan territories. Despite their suspicions and their general disdain for the supernatural, she can see what they cannot. The Seer is clever. Clever and far too compassionate for his own good. Even if his rumored foresight is nothing but a fairy tale, if she can just focus that compassion of his on her army and her people rather than some nameless, faceless victims then he might be able to offer something useful.

 

It would certainly be a refreshing change to discuss strategy with someone with a brain rather than testosterone-fueled soldiers who just want an excuse to swing a sword around. With that hope in mind, River orders him to take a seat at the table and prays that she doesn’t come to regret it.

 

The Seer fidgets throughout the meeting, grumbling under his breath and snorting when Ramone offers his opinion on anything. He taps his fingers against the edge of a map spread across the table, sighs excessively, and generally makes a nuisance of himself until River considers reaching across the space between them and strangling him just to have a moment of peace. She quickly decides against it. He’ll be useless to her if she touches him.

 

Staring belligerently at the table littered with maps and battle plans, the Seer interrupts her top advisor, Octavian, in the middle of tentative attack plans with a muttered, “Amateur.”

 

Octavian pauses mid-sentence to glower at him. “Something you’d like to share, charlatan?”

 

The Seer purses his lips, eyes sparkling with such humor River reconsiders her position on strangling him. Losing the war might be worth it. “No, go ahead. Lead your troops straight into a trap.” He sniffs, shrugging. “None of my concern.”

 

Unclenching her jaw, River asks, “Do you know something we don’t? I ordered you to report all of your visions -”

 

“It’s not a vision,” he interrupts, scoffing. His hazel eyes slide in her direction and their gazes lock as his lips curl into a smug grin. “It’s common sense, Your Majesty.”

 

Slouching back in his chair, Ramone turns to her and his hand hovers over her arm like he wants to touch her. River scowls at him and he drops his hand back to his lap. “Your Highness, this man is always in your tent. He eats his meals with us. He follows you about everywhere you go. Must we endure his ramblings here as well?”

 

“You’ll endure whatever I say you must, Ramone.” She arches a brow at the young man still watching her with humor dancing in his eyes and demands, “Explain yourself, Seer.”

 

He ticks off a finger, gesturing with disgust at Octavian. “Your _brilliant_ advisor wants to lead your army to the west wall of the citadel.”

 

Octavian grunts. “It’s unguarded -”

 

“And why do you think that is?” The Seer stares him down, challenge in his eyes, and River has no doubt that if touching him weren’t forbidden he probably would have spent half his life getting punched.

 

“Shut up, Octavian,” she mutters absently, her gaze fixed on the Seer. “Tell me why.”

 

With a sigh that speaks to just how slow-witted he finds everyone around him, the Seer explains, “The Aplans’ best kept secret is the reason they don’t guard the western wall. You have to go through the forest to reach it -”

 

“We’re perfectly capable of traipsing through a bloody forest,” Octavian growls, leaning over the maps threateningly.

 

River glances at him, a warning in her narrowed eyes, and he falls silent with a huff. The Seer takes a moment to grin at Octavian and lean back in his chair, looking terribly chuffed. “The Aplans don’t guard their forest because there’s no need. No one ever makes it through. Aplan forests contain the last of the living trees – they will actually come alive and swallow you whole if you step close enough. And if that doesn’t finish you off, the poisonous spores released by trodding in the weeds certainly will.”

 

As the Seer taps his fingers against his knee and regards them all smugly, River whirls on her advisor. Voice dangerously low, she inquires, “You didn’t send scouts ahead to the forest?”

 

Octavian pales. “I assumed -”

 

“Idiot,” she snarls, and he flinches. “Get out of my sight until you have a plan that won’t cost me half my men -”

 

Beside her, the Seer’s chair wobbles and River turns her head to snap at him to sit still for god’s sake but what she finds makes her pause mid-tirade. He sits stiffly in his chair, his face twisted into a pained grimace and his hand clutched at his temple. Her heart leaps and she stares at him, eyes widening. “Is this it?” She asks, unable to keep the eagerness from spilling out into her voice. “Is it happening?”

 

Whimper caught in his throat, the Seer nods once quickly.

 

Everyone around the table leans forward, gazing raptly at the Seer as though about to see a magic trick. Eyes fastened on him, River asks curiously, “What does it feel like?”

 

“Painful,” he snaps, still wincing. “Like my brain is really hot soup. No, that’s rubbish. Forget that. It’s not like that at all. Now _shush_.”

 

She glares at him but before she can retort, the Seer’s eyes roll over white and he slumps back in his chair like a limp doll. Several of her men move toward him when he slips from his seat and collapses into a heap on the floor but River holds out a hand. “Don’t touch him,” she orders, leaning over her chair to stare at him.

 

His back arches off the ground and his limbs gradually begin to tremble until he’s shaking all over, seizing so violently River fears he might injure himself. He whimpers, his whole face contorting, and she watches as tears slip from behind his closed lids. He murmurs unintelligibly, flinching at whatever he sees. River swallows, some unnamed tightness wrapping around her heart as he struggles.

 

After what seems like an eternity, he finally goes limp again. It isn’t until he opens his reddened eyes that she realizes she hadn’t drawn a breath during the entire episode. She gasps softly, pressing a hand over her thundering heart and forcing air into her lungs. On the floor, the Seer slowly sits up and drags a weary hand over his face.

 

It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he’s all right but there are too many eyes and ears. Softness from their Queen isn’t something her troops need to witness. Not yet. She swallows again in an effort to rid herself of the bothersome lump in her throat and demands, “What did you see?”

 

Head in his hands, the Seer mumbles. “Attack from the east in three days time.” His whole body spasms and he grits his teeth, waiting for it to pass. River bites down hard on her tongue. “No one will be at the wall due to a bout of food poisoning. Incapacitates over half their men.”

 

She nods and murmurs, “Well done, Seer.”

 

He salutes weakly.

 

Turning to her men, River orders, “Prepare to ride out in two days time. We go east.”

 

Seeing agreement in their eyes, she dismisses them with a wave of her hand and turns her back on them as they file out of the tent one by one. She senses Ramone lingering behind her in hopes that she might offer him a word or a glance but when she does neither, she hears him sigh and slip away. He’s fit enough for a tumble after battle and he has certainly kept her boredom at bay during the long months away from her kingdom but encouraging Ramone to believe himself anything more than a soldier and convenient way to scratch an itch would be unwise.

 

Once he’s gone and she’s satisfied she’s truly alone with her Seer, River closes the distance between them and crouches beside him on the floor. “All right?” She murmurs, forcing the quiet words past her lips reluctantly.

 

He blinks up at her and River keeps her expression carefully neutral, looking down at him with no emotion in her eyes. Even with all her practice, it isn’t easy. Her ridiculous Seer had very nearly scared the hell out of her. She’s never seen such a fit in all her life, despite her years of watching men in the throes of death on the battlefield. That had been something else entirely. Something unnatural.

 

Finally, after carefully scrutinizing her expression, the Seer nods once. “Course I am,” he says, and his voice is oddly hoarse. “Always all right, me.” He brings a hand up to his temple and winces, peering at her hopefully through his fringe. “Don’t suppose you have any sugar on hand?”

 

River stares at him. “What, like the cubes we feed the horses?”

 

“Anything, really.” He shrugs. “Helps with the headache sometimes.”

 

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him his pain isn’t any concern of hers and after a lifetime of believing it’s what a Queen should say it very nearly slips out. She doubts benevolence will ever come easily to her but she hasn’t exactly been given the opportunity to practice. It’s hardly something she can try with her men. They need their leader strong and unyielding, merciless in her wrath. She’ll give it to them – at least until the war has been won. After that, she supposes she won’t be the only one learning how to live in peacetime.

 

With a nod, River rises to her feet and strides to the tent entrance, pushing aside the flap of canvas and snapping at the first person she sees. “Ramone, fetch some sugar cubes and bring them to my tent.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, she ducks back into the tent and fixes her gaze on her Seer still sprawled out the floor. “You’re strong enough to make it to bed?”

 

She does her best to phrase it as a question but the Seer smirks like he hears the command anyway. “And if I can’t, who’s going to help me?”

 

Thankfully, the Seer has spent a lifetime recovering from his visions without the aid of anyone else. He’s clearly weak and his limbs tremble as he moves but he remains upright. Forcing herself not to hover, River strides ahead of him and into her tent.

 

By the time the Seer collapses onto his bedroll, he’s pale and sweating and his breath comes in sharp pants. He stares up at the ceiling, lips parted and expression twisted into a pained grimace. River perches on the map-littered table in the center of the room and busies herself with polishing the blade she keeps tucked into her boot.

 

She darts the occasional surreptitious glance at her Seer, telling herself it’s only because she’d gone to so much trouble to acquire him and it would be a shame to have to replace him so soon. When his breathing finally begins to even out, she stops grinding her teeth and tucks her knife back into her boot.

 

Ramone wanders into her tent carrying a little bowl of sugars, bowing briefly. “Got them, Your Highness.”

 

She snatches the bowl from him. “Took you long enough.”

 

“Sorry, I -”

 

“I don’t want excuses, Ramone,” she sighs. “I want efficiency.”

 

He lifts his chin, avoiding her gaze. “Yes, Your Highness.”

 

“Out.” She waves him away and doesn’t move until he disappears, head down like a pup with its tail between its legs. River watches him go with a sigh. He really is pretty. There’ll be plenty of time to make it up to him later, however. For now, she feels the curious eyes of her Seer on her and looks away.

 

Small bowl of sugars cradled in her palm, she approaches his bedroll and offers them to him with an awkward, “These’ll do, I hope.”

 

Taking the bowl from her – she notices the careful way he keeps his long, elegant fingers from brushing hers – the Seer nods and pops a sugar cube into his mouth. “It’s perfect,” he says, still sounding weary right down to his bones. “Thank you.”

 

River stiffens. “Don’t thank me.” Rising to her feet, she turns away. “I just need you at your best, that’s all.”

 

“Of course,” he murmurs, and she hates that voice. They’ve only known each other a short time but she’s already begun to think of it as his Insufferable All-Knowing Voice. “Still. Thank you.”

 

Nodding woodenly, River keeps her back to him and undresses in the dark. She slips out of her boots and tucks the knife beneath her pillow. She sheds her trousers and chain mail, untucking her hair from the knot at the back of her head. Curls tumbling down her back, she crawls naked into her bed and listens to her Seer munch on sugar cubes.

 

It only takes a few moments of lying in the dark and counting his steady breaths as he recovers before she finally asks the question that has been plaguing her since rumors of his existence reached her. “How have managed it?” She asks, and even from across the room she hears the moment the Seer stills. “Going without human touch all your life?”

 

He doesn’t answer for a long moment and she’s beginning to think he’s just going to ignore her when he finally replies, “My gift manifested at an early age. I’ve been in isolation most of my life to preserve it.” She can’t see him in the dark but she can hear his shrug and picture the look on his face – the very same determination not to be pitied that she sees in her own eyes every time she gazes at her reflection. “It’s been so long I don’t even remember what it is I’m supposed to miss.”

 

River swallows, turning onto her side and tucking her blankets beneath her chin. She peers through the dark but it’s impossible to make out the Seer, several paces away and sprawled weakly across his bedroll. “You called it a burden before,” she whispers. “If that’s true, why not just touch someone and end it?”

 

To the disappointment of her burning curiosity, the Seer makes no reply.

 

-

 

Lately, his dreams have been filled with the clang of swords and the spray of blood across River Song’s flushed cheek. His reality isn’t much different. The sound of battling swords roars in the air like a drum beat and the scent of blood hangs in the atmosphere as a rancid perfume. It’s his second raid under the Queen’s command but it hasn’t gotten any easier to watch the carnage unfold.

 

To the Queen’s rather terrifying glee, they had managed to catch the kingdom of Mendorax Dellora off guard. The moment King Hydroflax’s army general made the decision to attack River’s camp in the dead of night, the Seer had crumpled to his knees with the force of the vision – a full two days prior to the army general’s intended day of attack. Thanks to his foresight, the Queen’s army had been the one to attack in the night and they haven’t shown a shred of mercy.

 

She leads her men toward the fortified castle walls, cutting a path through the enemy with her blade. She never hesitates, never makes a wrong move. She wields her weapon as though she’d been born with it in her hand and the Seer squirms with unease as he follows behind her.

 

Just as she’d commanded, he hasn’t left her side or the side of the soldier she’d assigned with the task of keeping him from a bloody, violent death – or, she’d remarked with an amused glance at him, tripping over his own feet and falling from the battlements. Queen or not, the Seer hadn’t been able to keep from glowering at her. To his annoyance, it only seemed to further delight her.

 

“Don’t you think this is all a bit excessive?” He shouts over the clamor, hoping she’ll hear him even as she runs through two soldiers at once with her sword. He grimaces, his stomach churning with nausea as he glances away from the gruesome sight. Her blade makes a wet, _squelching_ noise as she withdraws it from their innards and the Seer fights back the demanding heave of his own insides.

 

“What was that?” The Queen calls, sounding distracted as she shouts at him over her shoulder. She knees a man between the legs and when he doubles over, shoves her knee into his nose with a _crack_. She steps over him when he crumples, moving swiftly on to her next victim.

 

The Seer watches from between his fingers as she ducks a potentially fatal blow with surprising grace and counter attacks by striking the flat of her blade against her opponent’s shins. Her enemy stumbles and the Queen finds the weakness in his armor with a quick, calculating glance. She runs him through with her sword and huffs a curl from her eyes.

 

Setting his jaw, the Seer drops his hands from his face and says, “You can’t just waltz in and kill everyone who doesn’t agree with you.”

 

“I think you’ll find I can,” she says, as casually as if they were having a quaint disagreement over tea. She blocks an attack and whirls, her sword clashing with her newest opponent. “I am. Have been for quite some time now.”

 

He watches with his heart in his throat as she thrusts her blade between the ribs of her enemy. “There has to be a better way.”

 

The Queen grunts, yanking her sword back and watching distantly as the soldier collapses. “I’ve yet to find one.”

 

“A peace treaty,” he presses desperately, watching her turn her attention to another poor soldier. In the firelight of the city center, the shadows cast her in reds and golds. With blood painted across her armor and her face, she looks like some sort of demon. The War Queen everyone speaks of in fearful whispers, hoping she doesn’t descend on their town next. “Have you even _tried_ talking first?”

 

“Talking? Seriously?” She turns and glares at him over her shoulder. “Could you have a crisis of conscience later, sweetie? I don’t know if you noticed but I’m in the middle of something.”

 

He scowls at her and opens his mouth to retort but a tap on the shoulder with the flat of a blade stalls the words in his throat. He turns, half fearful, and sags with relief when he sees it’s only his minder for the evening. Vastra eyes him without amusement, her bright green eyes narrowed. “If you want to keep your head, I would suggest you cease arguing with the Queen while she has a sword in her hand.”

 

The Seer swallows and looks away, his eyes falling to the dead soldier staining the rocks with vivid red blood. “Noted,” he murmurs, and lets her usher him after the deadly monarch in question.

 

If he doesn’t focus on the bloodbath occurring around him – rather difficult with all the screaming and fighting – he might have been able to admire the Queen’s technique. She treats battle like a dance, gliding through the furor with fluid, deadly grace. She never makes a mistake, moving like her sword is a part of her, just another extension of her body.

 

If they were anywhere else, doing anything else, he might have called her glorious. But it’s difficult to ignore the Queen’s total disregard for human life. She kills as easily as breathing, no hesitation in her movements and no remorse on her face when her enemy falls.

 

She ducks her head, the hair she’d piled on top of her head bouncing a bit as she crouches to avoid being hit, thrusting her blade through a man’s stomach. The Seer looks away and forces a smirk to his face. “That one almost got your head. Getting tired, Your Majesty?”

 

He still can’t look at her but he hears the Queen mutter, “I hate him.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her wipe her blade on a fleeing peasant’s tunic. To the Seer’s surprise, she lets the man go free without a backwards glance and he feels genuine amusement leaking into his smile for the first time in days. “No, you don’t.”


	3. nowhere to run from the fire she breathes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fascinates her, this new Seer and the way he oscillates between the enthusiasm of a child and the weariness of a very old man. She supposes it’s just what the gift of foresight does to a person. If it doesn’t drive one utterly insensible, it’s certainly going to weigh on the heart and the soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which River is protective, Ramone is jealous, and the Seer is confused. Also Strax might need stitches. Oops. 
> 
> Chapter title from Horns by Bryce Fox.

Ramone’s hot mouth on her neck and his hand high on her thigh is usually enough to make River forget her troubles for a little while. She can lose herself in punishing sex, pinning her prettiest soldier to her bed and marking him like her very own personal battlefield. Tonight, however, as his teeth scrape her collarbone and his fingers stroke her knee, her mind is somewhere else entirely.

 

She stares over his broad shoulder at the shadow cast against the canvas wall of her tent. Her Seer hadn’t taken kindly to being kicked out but she hadn’t let him go far. He sits just outside. She can see his silhouette, hunched over in childish petulance as he plucks idly at the grass and waits for permission to go to bed.

 

Pointedly glancing away from him, River reaches for the fastenings on Ramone’s trousers and feels his breath hitch against her throat. He groans, nudging his hips into her hands, and asks, “Are you sure we can’t send him a bit further away?” He glances uncertainly at the sulking shadow and grimaces. “Make him take a walk?”

 

“He stays where I can see him,” she says, her voice growing cold. “He’s too valuable.” Ramone nods, sighing, and she allows herself to soften. Arching a teasing brow at him, she asks, “Feeling shy, Ramone?”

 

He very nearly flushes, his dark eyes avoiding hers deliberately. “It’s not that. I just… don’t like the thought of him listening in. He goes everywhere with you and-” He risks a peek at her. “I think he fancies you.”

 

The thought of the virgin Seer fancying the very Queen who had stolen him from his home is so ridiculous she nearly laughs in his face. She lives and breathes war, always has, and there isn’t a violent bone in her bumbling Seer’s lanky body.

 

Just the day before, in the aftermath of yet another successful city takeover, she had spotted him crouched in front of a group of terrified children as he made them smile. He’d had blood smeared on his cheek but his eyes had been so kind and so bright. The sight had left her with a strange warmth blooming in her chest she had never felt before and hadn’t the slightest idea how to interpret. It had occurred to her then, before she’d made herself look away, that it might be nice to touch him. Just once.

 

He fascinates her, this new Seer and the way he oscillates between the enthusiasm of a child and the weariness of a very old man. She supposes it’s just what the gift of foresight does to a person. If it doesn’t drive one utterly insensible, it’s certainly going to weigh on the heart and the soul. It’s something they have in common, all that death resting on their shoulders. She doubts her Seer would see it quite the same way.

 

Staring at Ramone, River scoffs and shoves his hand off her knee. “Are you jealous of a man I can’t even touch?”

 

Ramone looks away and mumbles, “Of course not.”

 

“Good,” she says sharply. “Because jealousy from you is unwarranted.” He brightens until she continues, dissuading him quickly of any notion that she might have feelings for him. “You forget yourself, Ramone. I don’t belong to you nor any man. You have no claim on me. I am your Queen and you are a pleasing body to warm my bed, nothing more. If that isn’t satisfactory, you’re free to go. Is that understood?”

 

Outside the tent, she could swear she hears the Seer snort. She tightens her jaw and ignores him, staring intently at Ramone. He looks crestfallen but it had been a necessary rebuke. He thinks too highly of his place in her bed, never seeming to realize that she could kick him out without batting an eye. No one is irreplaceable to her. At least not anyone still living.

 

Nodding quickly, Ramone manages a thin smile and ducks his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

 

“Excellent.” She forces a smile, abandoning his trousers entirely as she takes his face between her hands. She’d called him to her bed to help her forget and so far he’s done a rubbish job of it. She strokes her fingertips along his cheek and falls back on her bed, guiding his face between her thighs with a murmured, “You know what I want from you.”

 

He nods eagerly, his stubble scratching her skin and his hands stroking along her legs. River shuts her eyes, her hand settling in his dark hair, and lifts her hips to meet his hot tongue. His mouth barely has a chance to set to work when she hears the pitiful noise she is slowly growing familiar with – the sound of her Seer in pain.

 

She shoves Ramone away from her and sits up, her wild hair in disarray as she turns to stare at the shadow against the canvas – crumpled on the ground now in a tight ball. She moves quickly, scrambling out of bed and grabbing her dressing gown. Without looking at Ramone, she demands, “Bring me a cold cloth and some sugar cubes. Go.”

 

Tying the sash on her gown, she steps barefoot out into the night and kneels beside her Seer in the dewy grass. His young face is crumpled in that torturous expression she has already begun to regard with unease. River isn’t used to feeling empathy. It isn’t in her nature. Perhaps it had been once but it had long ago been beaten out of her. Or maybe not. As she gazes upon her Seer now, she can’t help but wish there was something she could do to ease the suffering writ across his brow.

 

She keeps careful watch over him, keeping her hands to herself and her face impassive. When his eyes open, cloudy with pain and whatever nightmares he’d seen, he stares blankly at her until Ramone returns with everything she’d asked for.

 

River takes the cloth from him and strokes the sweat from her Seer’s brow, pausing when he shudders and cowers away from her at the foreign touch of another. Feeling unusually patient, she shows him the cloth and waits for him to realize she isn’t actually touching him. Finally, he relaxes back into the wet grass with a whimper and nods.

 

When she strokes the cool cloth over his cheek, he leans into her like a starved cat. His eyes flutter in quiet bliss and River bites her lip, dragging the cloth along his sharp cheekbone. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” he mumbles, his voice slurred. “You’re brilliant.”

 

She swallows, pushing his sweat damp fringe from his forehead with the cloth and wondering if knowing she cannot possibly touch him is the reason she wants so badly to lay her bare hand against his flushed cheek. She always did like to break the rules.

 

Glancing between them with a scowl, Ramone asks, “Well? What did you see?”

 

Realizing with a flash of irritation that she should have been the one to ask that the very moment the Seer opened his eyes, River flushes with embarrassment. It hadn’t even occurred to her yet. She’d been so bloody concerned with how the idiot was feeling she hadn’t even thought of the vision. Jerking her hand away from his face instantly, River drops the cloth and a handful of sugar cubes on his chest before she straightens, smoothing her face into a carefully blank mask.

 

Eyeing him down her nose, she clears her throat and prompts him with a dry, “At your leisure, Seer.”

 

He gives a shuddery exhale and pushes weakly at the wet cloth on his chest. He pops a sugar cube into his mouth and sucks on it, his every movement sluggish. “The Sontarans. They’ll be at the door of your kingdom by dawn. If you travel through the Gamma Forest and cross the river there, you’ll be able to cut them off before they reach the city walls.”

 

Eyes lighting up, River looks to Ramone with a grin. “Tell Nardole to prepare the horses. We leave at once.” As he nods and scrambles away, River rises to her feet and looks down at her Seer still sprawled on the ground. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to bed before he passes out again but when she remembers her earlier weakness, she swallows the words quickly. “Seer, you’ll ride out with me.”

 

His eyes widen and he sits up, swaying in place for a moment. “Erm, I don’t think-”

 

She glares. “That’s an order.”

 

He growls under his breath and snaps, “Fine.” When she turns on her heel to fetch her armor, the Seer climbs weakly to his feet and stumbles after her.

 

He still looks a little green when they ride out, slumped weakly in the saddle of his horse, but River keeps her eyes on the horizon and refuses to feel guilty. She’s been far too soft with him and while he may not need the brutal reprimands her soldiers do, she cannot afford to be seen as weak. Especially not with someone as valuable as her Seer. If the wrong people ever discovered she favored him, it would only make him more of a target than he already is.

 

Easier said than done, of course. Ever since Kovarian’s death, River has begun to realize that so much more of her humanity remains than she’d ever thought. She glances at the Seer out of the corner of her eye every so often, checking to make sure he hasn’t grown worse.

 

She peers surreptitiously over her shoulder, gritting her teeth and hating herself all the while, and finds him pale and swaying in his saddle. Heart leaping, River only has time to slow her horse – unsure what she could possibly do to keep him from falling when she can’t even touch him – before he tips to one side and slips from the saddle, hitting the ground hard.

 

Mercifully, his horse doesn’t trod on him.

 

The Seer groans, thoroughly startled from his post-vision daze. Huffing his fringe out of his eyes, he grumbles under his breath and tugs at his tunic as though struggling to regain his dignity. Other than a scrape on his cheek, he appears to be unharmed.

 

River forces out a breath and manages to smirk at him. “Nice nap?”

 

He glares at her from beneath his ruffled hair, thin brows drawn together in a pout. “Lovely,” he says, giving her a weary smile. “Bit short.”

 

She bites back a snort but before she can reply, Strax rides up beside them and snarls at the Seer. “Get up, useless worm. The Queen doesn’t have time for your bumbling idiocy.” He swings his sword toward the ground and River knows her most violence-prone soldier intends to prod the Seer into climbing back to his feet and mounting his horse but the Seer flinches and she lashes out on instinct.

 

The knife from her boot slashes Strax’s arm and he cries out, dropping his sword to the ground. It lands at the Seer’s feet but he doesn’t even glance at it, gaping at the wound spurting blood on Strax’s forearm. She stares at it too, stunned by her own temper.

 

Strax grimaces, clutching his arm and eyeing her with clear betrayal. “Your Majesty?”

 

She swallows her surprise and lifts her chin, gazing at him unblinkingly. “Don’t touch the Seer. And have the healer bandage that. Don’t want you bleeding on that poor animal.”

 

When Strax nods stiffly, River allows her eyes to drift back to the Seer still gaping between them. “Get up,” she orders, watching him finally snap his mouth shut. “If we’re too late to stop the Sontarans because of you, I will not hesitate to string you up and let my people take turns poking you with a pointy stick.”

 

The Seer huffs, climbing unsteadily to his feet. “I’m fine,” he mumbles under his breath, lurching for his waiting horse. “Thanks for asking.” His nose wrinkles as he struggles back into the saddle and River bites her lip against her amusement at his predicament. “Suppose I could do with some tea and maybe a few biscuits. A nice bath. Oh, you know those little ointments they sell at markets that make bubbles in the water? Love a good bubble bath, me -”

 

River rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Seer.”

 

He settles back into the saddle of his horse with a grunt of effort and sighs. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

 

Refusing to acknowledge the pang of guilt as he gingerly touches his scraped cheek, River digs her heels into her the sides of her horse and rides on. In the hours it takes to reach the Gamma Forest, she stops pretending she isn’t checking on her Seer every few minutes. If her men notice the focus of most of her attention, none of them dare to point it out.

 

-

 

That night, with the Sontaran army swiftly and mercilessly slaughtered before they could reach River Song’s kingdom, the Seer lays on his bedroll back at the campsite and tries to sleep. His mind makes rest impossible, insisting on replaying the afternoon over and over in his head.

 

The Queen had injured one of her own men to keep him from touching him. While he’d initially thought it was nothing more than River trying to protect the precious visions she relied on, he’d taken one look at her face and decided there must be something else to it. She’d been just as surprised by her actions as Strax had been. Had she been trying to… protect him?

 

Even now he can hardly believe it.

 

In all his years walking hand in hand with the inevitable future, he has never known anyone to remain as much of a mystery as River Song has. Most of the time, he can predict her actions well enough but he can never understand the why of it. And just as soon as he thinks he has her figured out, she does something utterly contrary and he has to start all over again.

 

She kidnaps him but lets him dine with her. She calls him an idiot but listens to his advice over the words of her advisors. She tells him she cares nothing for him and everything for his visions but reacts with unnecessary violence the moment one of her soldiers tries to poke him with a sword. River Song is a contradictory hellion and he hasn’t even begun to unwrap her mystery.

 

He doesn’t like not knowing and as far as he can tell, there’s only one way to understand the woman currently in charge of whether he lives or dies. Turning on his side, the Seer peers into the darkness at the Queen sleeping in her bed. She sleeps lightly and he’d long ago noticed the knife she keeps beneath her pillow but he’s willing to bet she’s tired enough after battle today that she might not notice him slinking about in the dark.

 

The little blue book – the one he’d noticed the first time he stood in her tent and the one he has spotted her scribbling in every so often since then – sits on the table beside her scattered weaponry. As far as he knows, it’s the only truly personal item River owns and she keeps it in her possession constantly.

 

Pushing back his blankets, the Seer abandons his bedroll and climbs to his feet, moving silently through the dark. At least, he certainly tries to move silently. Halfway to the table, he stubs his toe on a heavy piece of armor River had left lying on the ground. He hisses through his teeth and hobbles the rest of the way to his destination, keeping one eye on River’s sleeping form the whole time.

 

He glares down at the book when he reaches it. “This had better be your diary, River Song.” Hand outstretched to scoop up the book, he mutters, “If I lose a toe for more battle plans and some scribbled doodles of shirtless Ramone, I will -”

 

“No.”

 

He freezes, his eyes going wide and his throat closing up in sheer panic. Certain that he’s been discovered, he waits for a vision about his own beheading but after a few endless moments, he realizes nothing is forthcoming. He glances warily over his shoulder and finds River still sleeping. Sagging with relief, he frowns at her. He’d been sure he’d heard her voice…

 

River twists beneath her blankets, as if still fighting off some foe even as she sleeps. He’s just about to roll his eyes and turn away when she makes a noise so pitiful and so unlike the mighty Queen he has come to expect that the Seer can do nothing but stare at her, his heart caught in his throat.

 

She whimpers again, her face crumpling and her voice cracking with emotion. “Kovarian, _no_.”

 

Thoughts of the little blue book fly instantly from his head. Feeling as though caught in a trance, the Seer abandons all previous notions of snooping and moves closer to the slumbering Queen. He stops at her bedside, peering down at her in the dark and struggling to understand the knot of emotion in his chest.

 

Who would have thought River Song had nightmares? It’s yet another layer to the enigma she presents. Everyone calls her War Queen and she encourages the title, sometimes even seems to revel in it, but here she is curled up in her bed and whimpering like a little girl caught in some dream of the bogyman.

 

River lashes out again, tangled in her sheets, and mutters _please_.

 

The Seer fidgets, knowing that if she wakes suddenly and finds him looming over her, she’ll bury that knife beneath her pillow right into his gut. Still, he continues to hover and silently wishes he could think of some way to comfort her. Like she had done with him that afternoon after his vision. She’d used the cloth to touch him.

 

He swallows at the memory, looking around wildly for something similar. Spotting a glove half hidden beneath her bed, the Seer dives for it and slips it on. It’s an awkward, tight fit. Her hands are much smaller than his. Pleased anyway, he makes a triumphant noise and turns back to her, his hand halfway to her cheek before he stops.

 

He hasn’t much practice with comfort. There hasn’t ever been anyone to comfort, really. Quite certain he would be rubbish at it and perhaps the Queen would be better off if he just dropped the glove and toddled back to bed, the Seer hesitates for another long moment before River whimpers, “I’m sorry. Please don’t.”

 

The Seer sets his jaw, steels his resolve, and presses his gloved hand to River Song’s cheek. To his surprise, she turns into the touch instantly. Even through the glove, he can feel the heat of her skin and his mouth grows dry at once. Blimey, is everyone this warm or was River Song some sort of independent sun? She radiates heat, siphoning it off to him like there’s a cord between them. Warmth floods his veins and the pit of his stomach. It turns his head fuzzy and he licks his dry lips, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

 

Rattled, he begins to pull his hand away and River says again, “So sorry.”

 

He softens, shushing her gently and allowing his gloved thumb to stroke the soft skin of her cheek. At least, he imagines it must be soft. He stares at the golden flush of her skin and thinks _yes_. Very soft.

 

“It’s all right,” he whispers, watching with relief as the furrow fades from her brow. “You’re forgiven. Always and completely.”

 

As if he’d said the magic words, River falls quiet. Her hands unclench from the sheets and the pained expression slips from her face. Cheek resting against his gloved palm, her lips curl into a faint smile and she drifts back into peaceful dreams once more.

 

Swallowing heavily, the Seer slips his hand out from beneath her and quickly sheds the glove. It still feels warm to the touch but he doesn’t linger, hurriedly tucking it back where he’d found it. Breathless and far too hot, he stumbles back to his bed in the dark and lays awake for a very long time.


	4. as darkness swallows beast and burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a toll, watching what happens after he relays his visions to the Queen and her army. Considering the weight of the guilt he already carries, one would think a little more would hardly matter but on the days when the Seer has to witness the slaughter of so many men his shoulders always slump with the burden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which River has a soft spot for her prophet, the Seer sees something he wishes he hadn't, and Octavian needs a loincloth.
> 
> Chapter title from Death Is Like A Beating Drum by Sanders Bohlke.

It takes a toll, watching what happens after he relays his visions to the Queen and her army. Considering the weight of the guilt he already carries, one would think a little more would hardly matter but on the days when the Seer has to witness the slaughter of so many men his shoulders always slump with the burden.

 

Despite the sugar River had tossed at him – he couldn’t bring himself to think of her as simply a title any longer, not with the night terrors he’d seen a few days ago – his head still aches. The Seer slouches in front of the fire River’s men had built in the city center. They’d taken control of Alfava Metraxis hours ago, the King taken hostage and clapped in irons somewhere. He didn’t let himself wonder what River might do to him before she killed him, shutting his eyes and rubbing at his aching temple.

 

Fleeting possibilities swim before his eyes, wisps of future realities that have no bearing on River’s endless war and therefore would be of no use to her. He pushes away pointless visions of Vastra’s choice of breakfast in the morning and who will be puking in the bushes in an hour from too much drink, scrubbing at his eyes until the images fade.

 

From the look of things, the army had pilfered every bottle of alcohol in the city. In a rare instance of magnanimity, River had allowed her men the rest of the night to drink and be merry for a job well done. Warming his hands by the fire, the Seer watches them drink and grin and clap each other on the back for decimating an entire city. Only the old man everyone calls the War Doctor looks as solemn as he does, wandering about and bandaging up the wounded.

 

Stripped of half her armor, River sits on the outskirts of the rowdy gathering, her back against a crumbling wall. She ignores them all in favor of cleaning her sword and sharpening her knife, rebuffing even Ramone’s attempts to get her to celebrate with them.

 

The Seer watches her from over the roaring flames of the open fire, contemplating the furrow between her brows and tuning out the raucous laughter around him until someone drops a bottle in his lap. He fumbles to catch it before it hits the ground and shatters, clutching it protectively to his chest and looking up only at the sound of someone laughing at his expense.

 

He glances up, peering at Vastra through his fringe, and holds the bottle aloft between them. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

 

“Have a drink,” she says, settling onto the ground a safe distance away from him. Her bright green eyes dance with mirth as she watches him. “We did well. We deserve to indulge, don’t you think?”

 

Wrinkling his nose, the Seer sets aside the bottle of spirits and shakes his head. “Forgive me if I don’t feel like celebrating the genocide of hundreds of innocent men.”

 

“Who says they were innocent?” Vastra lifts a questioning brow at him, shrugging when he only stares at her. Lifting her own bottle to her lips, she takes a generous sip and delicately wipes at her mouth with a fingertip. “Every victory is a step closer to the end of this war, Seer. We’ll be able to stop fighting and return home.”

 

She says it with such longing that he can’t help but wonder who Vastra has waiting for her back in River’s kingdom but he doesn’t get a chance to ask before Octavian settles onto the ground next to her. He clinks his bottle against hers and takes a swig.

 

“You’re wasting your time,” he says to her when he swallows. “He’ll never understand why we fight. He’s spent his entire life in an ivory tower, too good to filthy his hands with the likes of us.”

 

The corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. “Have you truly never?”

 

The Seer squirms, catching on to her meaning quickly. He feigns ignorance, both to delay answering the question and to make things as awkward for Vastra as she has begun to make it for him. “Never what?”

 

She almost blushes, leaning in to whisper primly, “You know…”

 

At his continued silence and carefully blank stare, Octavian sighs noisily and clarifies, “Have you never fucked a woman before then?”

 

Vastra buries her face in her hands and despairs, “Must you be so uncouth?”

 

“You’re the one who asked,” Octavian grumbles, nudging her. “Just putting you out of your misery.”

 

Still blushing, Vastra peeks at the Seer through her fingers. “Apologies,” she mutters. “But… have you?”

 

“Obviously not,” he says stiffly, glancing away from them as he feels his own cheeks begin to heat with a flush that has nothing to do with the fire. He refuses to look at them and in so doing, his eyes land on River again. She holds her knife in her hand but she appears to be through cleaning it, staring into space instead. He can only hope she isn’t listening to their mortifying conversation. “I can still see the future, can’t I?”

 

Octavian snorts, taking another generous sip from the bottle he holds. “Choosing between sex or seeing the future?” He muses, shaking his head. “I believe I would have lost your gift a long time ago.”

 

Vastra mutters something about his vulgarity again but the Seer notices that even she can’t help but nod her head in agreement. He bristles, wondering why so many believe sex to be the ultimate feat of existence. He has watched cities burn and children cry. He has seen things even these world-weary soldiers would not believe. He has lost things they will never understand. And yet these two links in the chain of River’s army think themselves so much more experienced merely because they’ve had a meaningless tumble in the sheets with another person.

 

The Seer scratches his cheek and mutters petulantly, “Yes well, some of us have managed to rise above our baser, caveman instincts.” He pointedly refuses to allow himself to think of the nights when he dreams less of war and death and more of River Song tanned and bare at her wash basin.

 

The condescending smile slips from his face and Octavian sets aside his drink, leveling him with a glare. “Are you calling me a caveman, Virgin?”

 

The Seer shrugs and replies loftily, “Well, if the loincloth fits.”

 

Octavian growls at him, shrugging off Vastra’s quelling hand on his arm.

 

Studying him closely, the Seer squints and nods. “You know, I was worried before but I think the scar will suit you nicely.”

 

Anger momentarily forgotten, Octavian stares at him. “What scar?”

 

The Seer gives him an enigmatic smile. “Spoilers.”

 

Octavian moves so quickly everyone flinches but the Seer – and River. He hadn’t even realized she’d been paying their conversation any mind but Octavian’s fist is centimeters from smashing his face in, barely enough time to recoil from the inevitable blow, when River steps between them.

 

Her knife flashes in the firelight seconds before Octavian cries out and staggers away from them, clutching a hand to his cheek. Blood seeps from between his fingers as he gapes at River, standing protectively in front of the Seer. Cast in shades of orange and red from the firelight, she looks a proper hellion – ready to unleash her wrath upon anyone who dares to damage her greatest chance of winning her precious war.

 

Hair wild and green eyes narrowed, she stares at Octavian without remorse. “Walk away,” she orders, her voice low. “Before I personally see to it that our Seer is not the only one incapable of pleasing a woman.”

 

Flushing, the Seer glares at her back and protests weakly, “Not incapable. It’s a _choice_.”

 

River sighs and though she doesn’t take her eyes from Octavian’s angrily retreating form, the Seer can hear the smile in her voice as she says, “That’s what they all say, sweetie.”

 

River makes everyone – especially Octavian – sleep a fair distance away from the fire that night. Her entirely selfish reasons being that she wants to be warm but refuses to let the Seer out of her sight. Unwilling to have one of her men jab him in the face with an elbow in the middle of the night and ruin everything, she banishes them to the outer reaches of the makeshift encampment.

 

Even so, the Seer keeps an eye on her brooding advisor Octavian just the same. The War Doctor had patched up his wound but the Seer has little doubt it will leave an ugly scar, just as he’d predicted.

 

River settles in to sleep without a hint of guilt, tucking her knife beneath her pillow. She catches his suspicious glances in the direction of her advisor and pauses, their gazes locking over the low burning fire. “No need to fret, Seer,” she says, her voice unusually soft. “You’re under my protection.”

 

“Right. Well.” He scratches his cheek. “Thanks.”

 

She winks and rolls over to sleep.

 

The Seer stares at her back and swallows. “Goodnight. Your Majesty.”

 

Despite his relative comfort curled up next to the fire beside River’s bedroll, he’s certain sleep will be impossible tonight. As much as he’d scoffed at her elaborate tent when he’d first seen it, he would give anything to be at their base camp and sheltered snugly inside of it now. He certainly doesn’t mind sleeping beneath the stars but lying in the dirt with River’s stinking men all around them is hardly his idea of a relaxing environment.

 

The Seer turns his back on them and keeps his face toward the warmth of the fire. His eyes settle instantly on River and his anxious fidgeting eases at once. Feeling unusually safe for being such an open target, he settles beneath his blanket and stares at her curls against her pillow until his eyes fall shut and sleep takes him.

 

When the vision comes, it comes in brief flashes and mangled voices.

 

Another battlefield, littered with the fallen and dying. The sun high in the sky, glaring down on the dead. Baking their flesh. The stench of rotting corpses fills the air, fills his senses and chokes him.

 

Swords clashing in battle.

 

A flash of golden curls shining in the sun.

 

Unfocused green eyes.

 

A moment of inattention.

 

The sword pierces her side, ripping viciously and unforgivingly through her flesh. Blood pours through her fingers. The sharp scent of it hangs heavy in the air. Her sword slips from her numb fingers. Her knees hit the dirt. A wordless gurgle bubbles in her throat.

 

He hears his own voice, shaking with desperation. _River please, no!_

 

The Seer starts awake, her name still caught in his throat. He sits up quickly, his hands clenched in the grass beneath him as he struggles to catch his breath. His lungs burn. His eyes sting. He tries to swallow and finds that he can’t, his mouth too dry and his throat too swollen. Nothing escapes his mouth but a strangled, pitiful cry.

 

River wakes instantly, clutching her knife and glaring into the dark for some nonexistence threat before her eyes land on him and she relaxes. With a sigh, she drops her knife and tugs her hair from her eyes. She peers at him in the firelight, her eyes still soft with sleep, and the Seer has twin images of her in his mind of her now and her in the future, bleeding out in the middle of a battlefield. He turns away from her, scrubbing furiously at his eyes until his vision blurs and his eyes ache.

 

“Seer?” She asks, and her voice is still husky with sleep. “What did you see?”

 

“Nothing.” The lie falls from his lips easily. It should. He’s had practice. “It was just a dream.”

 

She makes a noise of disbelief in the back of her throat. “How can you tell?”

 

The Seer draws in a fortifying breath and pastes on a smile, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “Unless chickens are going to start cursing like sailors and chasing me with bananas, I think it’s safe to assume it was a dream.”

 

River rolls her eyes, the last bit of tension leaving her body now that the threat of danger has passed. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath. Then louder, “Do you need a sleeping draught?”

 

He quirks an eyebrow at her, doing his best to shove aside what he’d seen. It’s almost easy, with River so very alive and comely right in front of him. “Worried about me, Your Majesty?”

 

She scowls. “I need you sharp. That’s all.”

 

“Of course,” he murmurs, and studies her for a long moment. She’s annoyed with him but no more than usual. Her face is still soft and relaxed with hard-won sleep. Feeling brave, he ventures, “Is that what you take for your nightmares?”

 

River stiffens at once, her whole frame going rigid. Her eyes are sharp enough to cut glass. “What nightmares?”

 

He shrugs, affecting nonchalance he doesn’t truly feel. “Like the one I heard you having the other night.” She breathes in sharply but he forges ahead with reckless abandon anyway. “You mentioned someone called Kovarian. Who’s she?”

 

“Shut up,” she snaps, and he finally notices that her face has gone pale and her eyes are wide with a fear he previously would have assumed River Song never felt. “You’re not to speak of her. _Ever_. Is that understood?”

 

“Right,” he says, too startled to protest. “Sorry. It’s just…” He sighs, watching her with an ever-growing fondness he has no idea how to stop. “I know this life must take its toll. You don’t have to be this, River.”

 

“Yes,” she says, her voice and her eyes flat. “I do.”

 

“You really don’t.” He smiles, trying desperately to infuse it with the kind of bravery he learned far too late in life and wishing he could give some of it to her. She shouldn’t have to learn the hard way, not with him here to make her see. “There’s a choice. There’s always a choice -”

 

In an effort not to wake the others, she hisses, “You think if I had one, I would choose this?” She growls under her breath and glowers at him, her eyes glimmering with fury in the dark. “You’re a hopeless idiot and I wish I’d had the chance to be as stupidly naïve as you.” She snatches up her blanket and offers him one last snarling piece of advice. “And _don’t_ call me River.”

 

She turns her back on him and resolutely ignores his whispered attempts to get her to engage with him again but he still doesn’t go back to sleep. Haunted by their conversation and what he’d seen, the Seer huddles beneath his blanket and waits for dawn. When he breathes in, he can still smell flesh rotting in the hot afternoon sun.

 

-

 

The journey back to their base camp the next morning is quiet and tense. River isn’t oblivious enough not to realize it’s mostly her fault. As her top advisor, Octavian often sets the mood for the rest of her men but for most of their ride back to camp, he’s still brooding over their confrontation the night before to bother with keeping her soldiers in good spirits.

 

Her Seer, who usually provides much of the entertainment whether he intends to or not, is also unusually quiet. Likely still pouting because she hadn’t tossed over her warmongering ways after his little pep talk last night. He rides alongside her and steals the occasional glance at her but River keeps her eyes straight ahead and refuses to give him her attention.

 

Ramone rides on her other side, doing his best to engage her in insipid conversation but she rebuffs him at every attempt. The man is far too cheery in the mornings and no matter how pretty he may be, River hasn’t the patience for those wide, easy grins so early in the day. Eventually he gives up entirely and settles for casting irritated glances at the Seer, as though he’s somehow to blame for River’s foul mood.

 

With their Queen, her lover, her advisor, and her Seer all stewing in stony silence, she knows her army is relieved when they arrive back at their base in the late afternoon. Most of them slide from their horses and hurry about their usual duties, eager to collapse in their tents for some much needed rest the open air hadn’t provided – which is probably why they all look so disappointed when the Seer collapses in the middle of another vision nearly the moment they return.

 

Despite her lingering irritation with her Seer for taking liberties he has no right to take – how dare he mention her nightmares and Kovarian, how dare he call her by her name, how dare he bloody exist at all the infuriating beautiful idiot – she still can’t bring herself to ignore him. The Seer is near impossible to ignore in ordinary circumstances but sprawled out on the ground and shaking with the force of his vision, his young face twisted into unimaginable pain?

 

Not even River can withstand it.

 

She kneels in the dirt beside him, careful to keep her distance from his flailing limbs until he collapses limply into himself. He stifles a whimper, biting his lip so hard he draws blood. His breath comes in sharp pants and his brow crumples with the weight of whatever he’d seen.

 

She wonders if she’ll ever grow used to how vulnerable he looks after one of his visions; wonders if it will ever stop affecting her so strongly; if she’ll ever lose the urge to reach out and touch him in these quiet moments afterward. Fury towards him still brews in her heart but despite whatever the Seer may think of her, he brings out the full scope of her mercy in ways no one else has ever quite managed.

 

Opening his eyes, the Seer stares blankly at the sky overhead and without waiting to be asked, he says dully, “Skaro. Tonight.”

 

Despite herself, River smiles. One step closer to winning this endless war.

 

She almost orders him to get up and find his horse before she remembers what had happened the last time she’d made him move so quickly after a vision. He’d nearly broken his neck falling from the saddle and Strax had come very close to losing his hand because River had grown too damn protective of her prophet.

 

Sensing the ever-faithful Nardole hovering at her shoulder, River turns and relays the information – quietly, in deference to the Seer’s no doubt aching head. “We leave now.”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He bows and scurries away.

 

River turns back to the Seer, her expression softening what she finds him watching her fearfully – as though worried she’ll make him climb onto the back of a horse. “You’ll remain here.”

 

His expression shifts into something alarmingly besotted. “You’re pretty,” he slurs. “And scary.” His brow furrows. “I shouldn’t like that. Kind of do a bit.”

 

Stifling a smile, River wonders faintly if he’ll remember spouting such nonsense when he’s himself again. If not, she’ll be sure to remind him. “Everyone does, honey,” she says, and leaves him lying on the ground. She rises swiftly to her feet and stalks off to her tent. She has a battle to prepare for and nothing will distract her from winning – not her vision-drunk Seer and certainly not Ramone.

 

She says as much when he wanders into her tent, watching her like he has something to say but does not want to face her wrath for saying it. He ducks his head at her words and mutters, “I suppose that is all I am, isn’t it? A distraction.”

 

In the middle of attaching her breastplate, River offers him a coy glance over her shoulder. “But a pretty one.”

 

He sighs, shaking his head. “Nardole says you’re leaving the Seer behind.”

 

“Yes, I am.” She crouches beside her bed, ducking her head beneath it in hopes she’ll find her gloves there. Making a triumphant noise when she does, she snatches them up and rises to her feet again, huffing her hair out of her eyes. “What of it?”

 

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Ramone shrugs. “Just wondering why, I suppose. Just last night we all had to freeze because you wanted the fire and you wouldn’t let him out of your sight.”

 

River quickly ties her unruly mass of hair into a bun on top of her head with a nearby scrap of ribbon, offering Ramone a warning glance. “This isn’t more jealousy, is it?”

 

“It’s concern,” he insists, frowning. “He could easily get away from Nardole and run off. We’d never see him again. Then what would you do?”

 

“He won’t run,” she says, and knows in her heart that it’s true. Her Seer is an idiot but he’s a loyal one. “Besides, it’s safer for him here.”

 

Other than the benefit of keeping her clumsy Seer far away from a battlefield full of pointy swords, she’s well aware of how the sight of violence seems to affect him. She also knows her last Seer had gone insane inside of a month and if she can protect this one’s mental health by keeping him away from the fighting then she’ll do it.

 

And perhaps she has other, more selfish reasons for keeping him here. Her Seer glimpses things she would rather he didn’t – kind hazel eyes that always manage to find weaknesses she thought she’d gotten rid of long ago. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t looking forward to a day or two without feeling as though she were being studied and found wanting.

 

Pursing his lips, Ramone leans against the table holding all of her battle plans and watches her shove her hands into her gloves. “And you suddenly care for his safety?”

 

She makes an irritated noise and whirls on him. “Winning this war _hinges_ on his safety, Ramone. I don’t have the time or the patience to soothe your insecurities. Now unless you have something useful to say, see to your horse and get the hell out of my tent.”

 

Ramone nods shortly, sketching a quick bow before he turns on his heel and stalks back outside. In his absence, River leans against her bed and glares at her helmet abandoned on the floor. She contemplates kicking it out of sheer annoyance but before she gets a chance to decide whether she wants to give in to her temper, her tent rustles once more.

 

She glances up sharply, further tensing when she sees the Seer making his way uncertainly toward his bedroll. “Trouble in paradise?” He wonders aloud, a weak smirk curling his mouth.

 

Realizing he must have been lingering outside her tent and heard her entire exchange with Ramone, River clenches her jaw until her temples ache. “It’s not too late to change my mind and drag you with me,” she warns through her teeth.

 

Looking untroubled enough to irritate her all over again – a few weeks in her company and he’s already unfazed by her threats – the Seer collapses onto his bedroll. He curls his lanky limbs into a ball and peers at her through his fringe, his eyes wide and curious. “You trust me not to run?”

 

She looks away. “I trust that you value the lives of others too much to let them get hurt because you tried to escape.”

 

He sighs, the sound far wearier than a man his age has any right to be. “You don’t need to hurt anyone, River,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

When she risks a glance at him, he’s still watching her with those kind, soft eyes that always see right to the heart of everything. Even her. Clearing her throat, she stares at a spot just over his shoulder and only says, “Don’t call me River.”

 

He closes his eyes in response and feeling safe from his watchful gaze, she makes her escape and doesn’t look back.

 

- 

On the morning River is due to return from Skaro, the Seer wakes to the sound of gossip. He tunes it out for a moment, taking stock of the quiet camp. Far too quiet to contain a whole army of rowdy soldiers. However small, he’d been holding onto the hope that River might have returned in the middle of the night. He spares a glance for her bed anyway and finds it empty.

 

Not unexpected and yet he still can’t stop the ridiculous twinge of disappointment from pinching at his heart anyway. River Song can be cruel and demanding and far too smug but she certainly keeps things from getting boring. The last few days without her around camp have been mind-numbingly dull. He's even started to miss the way she calls him an idiot.

 

Rolling over onto his side, the Seer stares at the shadows cast across the tent by Nardole and Evangelista, River’s bumbling servant and handmaiden. Honestly, who brings a handmaiden to war? He huffs at thin air and mutters – perhaps a bit too fondly – about the excessiveness of the Queen until the conversation outside catches his attention.

 

“But haven’t you noticed?” Nardole asks, and the Seer gets the distinct feeling he’d missed something important while he’d been complaining under his breath about the royal pain in his side. “There’s a pattern to the cities and monarchs we wage war with. She doesn’t fight without reason.”

 

Evangelista hums in agreement. “I suppose…”

 

Nardole presses on, apparently unsatisfied with her lukewarm response. The Seer smiles into the dark, marveling at the loyalty of a man who has seen River behead Kings and kidnap prophets. “And she always leaves the women and children alive. Always.”

 

“Not always,” Evangelista protests softly. “What about Demon’s Run?”

 

“Y’mean when that Kovarian woman was still alive.” Nardole tuts scoldingly. “Hardly counts, does it?”

 

As Evangelista murmurs her agreement, the Seer frowns at their shadows, his mind racing. It’s the second time he’s heard talk of this Kovarian – always spoken of with the unmistakable note of fear and disgust. Who was she? And what did she have to do with River?

 

He burns with the need to know but Nardole and Evangelista say no more on the subject, their conversation shifting to gentle bickering over who had gotten the bigger piece of trout for breakfast and which of them deserved the second helping. They separate to go about their duties afterward, preparing the camp for the arrival of their Queen and far too many hungry, smelly men. The Seer takes his time getting out of bed, staring at the ceiling and vowing that somehow, he will find a way to understand the temperamental war Queen who has managed to burrow her way underneath his skin without ever touching him.

 

By the time he hears the sound of pounding hoof beats outside, he hasn’t come any closer to figuring out just how he might do that. His stomach twists as he listens to the camp flood with soldiers, all of them talking and laughing and speaking of sleep with the longing of a man for his mistress. He can hear River’s voice among them and when a smile starts to spread across his face, belatedly remembers she hadn’t been particularly happy with him when she’d left.

 

He holds his breath as he listens to her approach, wondering if she’ll still be in a strop after such a long journey back to camp, but he needn’t have worried. River steps into her tent with bright eyes and bouncing curls, a spring in her step. The moment she appears, he could swear the room gets brighter. Like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. It’s all he can do to keep from shielding his eyes from her sheer radiance.

 

River drops her things carelessly, her eyes searching him out and pinning him in place. There’s a warmth in her gaze that hadn’t been there when she’d left, as though battle had renewed her spirits instead of wearing her down. “You’re still here,” she says, as though she’d expected the opposite.

 

He nods, lifting a brow. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

 

She smiles. “Good.”


	5. on fire like a thousand suns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From what he has come to understand of River’s usual habits, via the gossip of her soldiers, she likes escaping the eyes of her advisors and sneaking off into the forest to hunt. The thing is, according to talk, she usually likes to hunt alone. Which is why the Seer can’t begin to understand what he’s doing traipsing through the foliage after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is hunting, swimming, and an almost.
> 
> Chapter title from Hunger by Ross Copperman.

From what he has come to understand of River’s usual habits, via the gossip of her soldiers, she likes escaping the eyes of her advisors and sneaking off into the forest to hunt. Rather dangerous for a Queen with a target on her back but River is nothing if not adventurous. The thing is, according to talk, she usually likes to hunt alone. Which is why the Seer can’t begin to understand what he’s doing traipsing through the foliage after her.

 

Tripping over yet another wayward branch and barely managing to catch himself before pitching forward face first into the dirt, the Seer growls and wipes the moss from his tunic. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I stayed behind?” He ventures hopefully, watching River use her knife to carve a notch into a tree trunk. “Everybody likes some alone time, don’t they? After all, if you can’t spend time with yourself then who can you spend time with, eh?”

 

She doesn’t glance at him, face tipped into the wind and feral eyes scanning the trees. “This way,” she finally says, and leads him further into the brush.

 

He sighs and stomps after her, crunching twigs underfoot until she shushes him with a hiss. He makes a show of tiptoeing to her side, grinning innocently when he catches up to her.

 

River glares at him. “If I wanted you to stay behind, I would have left you behind.”

 

Loping alongside her now, he asks, “Why didn’t you?”

 

She shrugs, avoiding his gaze as she stoops to inspect a set of deer tracks in the mud. “I like watching you trip.” She doesn’t look at him but when he grumbles, he watches her lips curl into a smile. “She went toward the stream.”

 

Her hand reaches for him and he starts before he realizes he feels not the heat of her skin against his but the supple leather of her hunting glove against his palm. He swallows back an unexpected wave of longing and laces their fingers together, letting River drag him through the forest and reveling in the foreign touch of another.

 

To his utter confusion, she seems to prefer his company above most lately. When she’d returned from Skaro a few weeks ago she’d seemed to put their earlier row behind her and ever since, she has kept him as close to her as ever.

 

Even her pet soldier Ramone, who’d seemed to hate him at first sight, had felt the need to warn him with pity in his voice, “Don’t think you’re safe just because she favors you. She liked all of her Seers at one time or another. Didn’t stop her from killing them when they’d outgrown their use.”

 

He can’t help but wonder at the irony. River is so determined not to let him out of her sight while he struggles every day just to look her in the eye. It’s impossible to see her without remembering his vision – River on her knees and clutching the wound in her side, warm blood oozing between her fingers.

 

Sometimes there is room for interpretation in his visions but this is impossible to mistake. River Song is going to die. He had seen her fall. Some faceless enemy had run her through with a sword and the amount of blood pooling around her had left no room for doubt. She couldn’t possibly survive such a wound. No one could.

 

He should be relieved. Most people abducted from their homes would be delighted to see their kidnappers brought to a messy end and he knows there are whole cities that would rejoice to see the War Queen fall. Once she’s dead, the carnage that has made up her reign will finally stop.

 

He _should_ be relieved. He isn’t. Every time he looks at her and remembers her fate, dread fills his stomach and it only grows with every passing day. Every day he watches her go off to battle and never knows if she’ll return. Every day he learns something new about River, something else to mourn once she’s gone – the way she rolls her eyes when he trips, the way she bites her lip to hide a smile when he insults Octavian, the unruly nightmare her hair somehow becomes in between the time she goes to bed and the time she gets up.

 

Ever since he’d witnessed her bad dreams and then overheard the strange conversation between Nardole and Evangelista, he had started to look for signs of humanity in the reigning terror called River Song. He’d been shocked to discover that once he started looking, humanity had been all he could see. The way she protects Nardole from her bullying soldiers, the sentimental way she takes that blue book of hers everywhere she goes, and the careful manner in which she tends to her horse after long journeys, before she even thinks to care for herself. For such a fearsome reputation, River is abominable at hiding her soft spots.

 

Or perhaps he’s one of the few who truly looks hard enough to see them.

 

River’s sharp inhale startles him from his thoughts and he looks up from her gloved hand on his arm to see her staring through the trees ahead. He squints in the direction she indicates and sees the deer River has been tracking for ages. “Hello darling,” she whispers, smiling. “What a gorgeous dinner you’ll make.”

 

The Seer barely hears her, watching the doe bend her graceful neck to sip water from the stream. She looks peaceful and calm, kneeling there by the trickling stream with the happy sound of birdsong all around her. She doesn’t even glance around, as if she has no reason to fear. And why should she fear? The forest is her home. She drinks her fill of water and lifts her head, tail twitching.

 

River doesn’t seem to notice the tranquility of the scene before her, far too busy pulling an arrow from behind her sling and notching it back. She lifts her bow and aims, head tilted as she squints into the distance. Without thinking, the Seer holds out a hand and pushes gently at her bow until she lowers it.

 

“Wait,” he whispers, not taking his eyes from the doe. “Don’t shoot her.”

 

Bow hanging from her fingers, River stares at him incredulously. “Don’t shoot her?” She hisses. “What do you think I came out here for, sweetie? Sightseeing?”

 

“I know, all right?” He tugs at his fringe, glancing between her and the doe ahead of them, perfectly innocent and minding her own business. “But look at her, River. She’s beautiful.”

 

“Yes,” River says dryly, arching an eyebrow. “And she’ll make a beautiful meal.”

 

He sighs, gesturing widely. “Would you just look at her? Properly look.”

 

She does, setting her jaw and turning her head, her eyes just wide enough to let him know she’s mocking him. “What am I supposed to be looking for, exactly?”

 

Before he can reply, the doe tips her head into the wind and wiggles her nose. The Seer smiles, watching her paw at the ground and nibble the grass beside the stream. “She belongs out here.” He glances at River, pleased to see her watching the doe with a frown. “How can you shoot her in her own home?”

 

She clicks her tongue, tossing her curls as she looks away. “Easily.”

 

He sighs, letting his hair fall back into his eyes as he glances pleadingly back at the deer. “Can we just follow her a bit longer? Please?”

 

He can practically hear River’s teeth grinding together as she fumes, her hand curled tight around her bow. He waits for her to snap at him to bugger off. He waits for her to lift her bow again and take aim. He waits to see the poor innocent doe drop dead and hear River order him to carry the carcass back to camp so Nardole can cook it.

 

For the first time in a long time, someone manages to surprise the hell out of him. “Fine,” River huffs, and tucks her arrow back into her satchel. She gestures grandiosely with her arm, mocking him again. “Lead the way, Seer.”

 

He blinks at her. She had given in. River never gives in. She’s like a hurricane – it just isn’t in her nature to show mercy. “Right,” he stutters out, forcing his wide eyes away from her. He clears his throat and straightens his tunic. “Onward then.”

 

They follow the doe for another two miles and though he can sense River’s patience growing thin, she makes no move to lift her bow. Her fortitude is rewarded eventually, deep in the heart of the forest, when the doe finally leads them straight into her shelter. They hover on the outskirts, hiding behind some trees and peering through the leafy branches.

 

“Look at that,” he breathes, chuckling. “River, she has a family.”

 

He grins, watching the little doe tend to her babies. Two of them – barely old enough to gambol about on their long legs. They’re adorable, all fresh and new with big round eyes and white spots smattered across their backs. River sighs through her nose, biting her lip as she watches the doe fuss over her little ones.

 

The Seer glances at her cautiously. “You’re not still going to shoot her, are you?”

 

She turns on him with a glare. “No, Seer. Despite how heartless you think I am, I am not going to shoot a mother in front of her babies.”

 

He beams at her, overcome with the sudden urge to tap her on the nose. He clenches his fists at his sides, terrified by the very idea. “See?” He says, struggling to keep his smile in place. “What if we hadn’t followed her and you’d shot her back at the stream? They might have died without their mother.”

 

River sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or they’d have learned to survive on their own. You can’t save every deer you come across, you know.”

 

“No,” he agrees, his smile softening around the edges. “But we saved this one, didn’t we?”

 

She sighs. “What difference does it make? It’s just one deer.”

 

“Makes a difference to the deer you saved.” He shrugs. “And it makes a difference to her babies. Isn’t that enough?”

 

River stares at him for a long moment, her glittering eyes studying him with enough intensity to make him squirm. Her expression begins to thaw and before he knows it, she’s very nearly smiling at him. She stifles it quickly but there’s no denying the way the corners of her mouth keep curling up despite her best efforts.

 

He grins at her, bouncing a bit on his toes.

 

She shakes her head, eyeing him with amusement. “Are you going to try to teach me a life lesson if I take you fishing or is trout a safe enough option for our dinner?”

 

The Seer opens his mouth to tease her about using worms for bait but pain tears through his mind so suddenly he can’t help but cry out. He clutches at his temples, doubling over with the force of the vision seared across his mind’s eye. It consumes him like wildfire until he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. It’s River’s voice that saves him.

 

“You’re all right,” she whispers. “Hush now.”

 

Her words slip through his mind like a salve, soothing and healing – putting out fires the vision had left in its wake. Her voice is a cool breeze, whispering over the gaping wounds in his mind until the pain recedes and he can breathe again. When he comes to, he’s lying on the forest floor with River kneeling beside him, her knee pressed against his thigh through their trousers.

 

He swallows thickly, ever conscious of her proximity and the heat of her so close. His gaze darts briefly away from her and he notices that the doe and her two little ones are gone. He’d probably scared them off with all that ruckus he’d made.

 

“Seer?” River’s gloved hand glides across his cheek in a caress that makes him shudder. His eyes flutter shut and he stifles a whimper of longing, turning his face toward her touch. She mistakes his misery for physical pain and when he risks a peek at her, she’s watching him with uncharacteristic concern. “What is it? Is it your head?”

 

He nods faintly and regrets the lie the instant she pulls her hand away. She rummages through her satchel and pulls out a handful of sugar cubes, presenting them to him with a shy little flourish that tugs insistently on his heart. “I packed them just in case,” she murmurs, fidgeting the longer he says nothing and simply stares at her.

 

She’d packed sugar cubes. She had anticipated his needs for something as brief as an afternoon hunting trip and tucked sugar cubes into her satchel just in case. For the life of him he can’t remember the last time anyone had thought of him or his needs outside of what they wanted from him. His throat tightens. Of course it had to be River who would, the contradictory hurricane who shows no mercy – unless it’s a helpless doe and he asks her to. Unless it’s him.

 

The tenderness welling in his chest must shine through his eyes as well because River flushes and clenches her jaw, dropping the sugar cubes carefully into his palm before pointedly glancing away. “Thank you,” he says softly, popping a cube into his mouth and sucking on it.

 

She nods stiffly, still refusing to look at him.

 

He lets the sugar melt on his tongue and watches her fiddle with the strap on her satchel, a faint pink flush still coloring her cheeks. She’d happily deck him if he pointed it out so he keeps the observation to himself and swallows a smile.

 

-

 

Huddled on a rock and squinting in the sunlight, her Seer says nothing as she strips out of her bloody armor. She lets each piece fall to the ground with a noisy clatter and steps toward the cool stream of water waiting for her at the edge of the embankment. “Sure you won’t join me?”

 

Long legs dangling over the edge of the water, the Seer sniffs at her. “Not really a swimming sort of chap.”

 

She smirks. “Afraid to get your hair wet?”

 

“Me?” He gawks. “What about you? Bet it grows three sizes – like a sponge.”

 

River glares at him but he looks far too pleased with himself to be fazed by it, which just won’t do at all. With a wicked grin, she lifts her thin shift over her head and tosses it aside. The warm afternoon breeze caresses her bare skin and she shivers with delight but it’s nothing compared to the Seer’s horrified squawk as he claps a hand over his eyes and flushes bright red.

 

“River,” he hisses, as though she hasn’t told him a thousand times not to call her that. “What are you doing?”

 

“Going swimming,” she replies innocently.

 

Hand still over his eyes, he squeaks, “But you’re _naked_.”

 

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” She clucks her tongue. “I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

 

He makes a strangled noise of irritation and River bites back a laugh. When she’d left for Skaro a few weeks ago, she’d been sure she needed time away from him and the way he saw more than she ever wanted anyone to see. It had taken her a mere day away from him to discover than she actually missed his constant presence at her side, even his constant questions and pestering her to be _kind_. He has become as essential to her as the air she breathes. No longer just her Seer, he has somehow somehow become her friend. Her guidepost.

 

He calls her _Your Majesty_ like he doesn’t mean it; like to him she isn’t a queen but a person – a person getting on his very last nerve, perhaps, but still a person. He blushes nearly as often as he trips over his own feet. He asks questions he has no right to know the answer to. He never flinches from her, never looks at her like she scares him. Surrounded by people who stare at her like she’s either a goddess or Death itself, the Seer is a breath of fresh air.

 

Taking pity on him, she leaves off teasing him for the moment and turns, diving off the rock and plunging into the cool water. Whatever blood had been staining her skin and her hair is gone by the time she surfaces, washed away like footprints in the sand. She pushes her wet hair from her face and wipes the water from her eyes, glancing toward the shore.

 

Her Seer has dropped his hands from his face but he’s staring at his lap in an adorable attempt to preserve her modesty. “You really aren’t going to get in?” She calls, mostly just to see him look at her, flinch, and look away again. “It’s awfully hot this afternoon.”

 

He shakes his head, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “I shouldn’t.”

 

“Pity,” she murmurs, shutting her eyes. She lets him pout for the time being, floating on her back and letting the sun warm her skin. It’s a basic tactical move, lulling the enemy into a false sense of security. She swims and splashes and hums to herself. She scrubs the scent of battle from her hair and her skin and bides her time.

 

When she’s certain her Seer has finally relaxed – his head tipped back and his eyes shut as he drinks in the sun and the warm air – she makes her move. Ducking silently beneath the water, River swims toward the rock where her Seer has found refuge. He yelps when she pops up right next to him but she gives him no time to scramble away.

 

With one sharp tug on his tunic, he tumbles headfirst into the water with her. She laughs brightly, floating a careful distance from him to watch him surface. He breaks the water spluttering and coughing, his fringe drooping into his eyes. “River,” he growls, still doing his utmost not to look below her neck. “That was unnecessary. Worse, it was _stupid_. You could have easily touched me by accident and then what?”

 

She shrugs, pressing her lips together and squirting a mouthful of water directly at his face. “I’d kill you and replace you.”

 

He coughs and scrubs at his face, gaping at her until he notices the sparkle of amusement in her eyes. He deflates at once, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he shakes his head. “Honestly, Koschei-” He freezes, the color draining from his face. “I mean, River. Your Highness. Sorry.”

 

He looks so shattered to have uttered the name that she almost doesn’t ask but it hangs heavy in the air between them and there really isn’t a choice. She lets him stew in silence for a moment but only to let herself wonder why it matters that her Seer is in pain. Why it has always mattered. She has no answer.

 

Clearing her throat, she blocks out the sound of the gently rushing water and the trees swaying in the warm breeze, focusing solely on the young man treading water in front of her. “Who’s Koschei?”

 

The Seer flinches but he doesn’t shy away from answering her honestly. “He was a childhood friend of mine. I don’t know why I – I suppose you remind me of him sometimes.” He forces a weak smile. “Reckless, arrogant, shameless…”

 

River rolls her eyes and wishes she could kick him. “And where he is now? You’ve never mentioned any friends before.”

 

Sobering instantly, her Seer looks away and any trace of humor is gone from his eyes. “He’s dead.”

 

“Oh.” River fumbles for something meaningful to say. She hasn’t much experience offering comfort and nothing at all comes to mind except for the useless platitudes people used to offer after the deaths of her parents. She’d detested them then and she detests them now. Empty-handed, she can only offer, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” he says, and his eyes are far away. “It was my fault.”

 

It’s dangerous to move any closer to him. The current could carry her right to him; make her touch him without even trying. She floats closer anyway and the Seer watches her through his lashes. River holds out her arm, letting her hand float toward him, and he draws in a sharp breath. She waits patiently until he extends his hand, palm flat against the surface of the water and his fingertips centimeters from touching hers.

 

Holding his gaze, River traces the outline of his hand in the water and says, “Tell me.”

 

His eyes well up and she thinks he’s about to refuse but he surprises her. Perhaps he’s never spoken about it before and she just happened to ask when he most needed to confide in someone. Perhaps for some mad reason, he trusts her. But whatever the reason, her Seer begins to speak. “I was eight when I had my first vision. I was a bit of a late bloomer, honestly. My mother’s ability manifested when she was three.”

 

River swallows, unable to keep from picturing such young children going through the pain she sees her Seer go through every time the future overwhelms him. “So young?”

 

He nods. “It’s hereditary most of the time and Seers never live long. Always best to start young so we can be useful as long as possible.” His voice is dry, heavy with a bitterness she rarely hears from him. He turns over his hand in the water, his palm facing up, and River’s hand hovers over his. The temptation to clasp his fingers in hers is so overwhelming that she draws away, unable to trust herself. “By the time I had my first vision, my mother had gone mad and taken her own life years ago.”

 

_I’m sorry_ seems so inadequate that she can’t bring herself to utter it again. She can only watch him and realize why people are so fond of touching. Words are a terrible substitute for caresses.

 

Her Seer pushes his dripping hair from his eyes and carries on. “I’d lived for years watching her. I knew the signs of the ability manifesting. I knew what to look for and how to tell if I was dreaming or seeing the future.” He smiles but it’s without humor. So hollow and empty that River feels her throat tighten. “I dreamt of my village under attack. People dying in the streets, everything burning. Even now I can still taste the smoke in the back of my throat.”

 

Her heart wrenches and she suddenly understands more than ever why he looks so ill when she makes him tag along to invade cities and overthrow kings. She wants to apologize for making him come with her on raids at all but apologies are not her forte. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth and the words dry up in her throat.

 

“I woke up terrified. I knew what I’d seen.” The Seer flicks at the water with his fingertips, his face twisting into a scowl. “But I was afraid. I didn’t want the visions and I certainly didn’t want to become my mother. More than anything, I didn’t want what I’d seen to be true.”

 

He shuts his eyes, his face crumpling with the weight of guilt he’s far too young to carry, and she understands. Keeping her voice soft, she surmises, “You didn’t tell anyone.”

 

“I pretended it was a dream. As if that would stop it somehow.” He draws in a shaking breath and opens his eyes again, staring somewhere over her shoulder. “I ran when I smelled the smoke. By the time the screaming started, I was climbing over the city walls. No one else made it out alive.”

 

River watches him with her heart in her throat. Those big hazel eyes rimmed red and welling with tears. That full mouth quivering. His lashes are wet when he finally risks a peek at her, a spark of dread in his eyes as he waits for her to condemn him. But River is in no position to be his executioner. “You were just a boy,” she whispers.

 

He shakes his head. “I should have said something. Anything.” He sets his jaw and his eyes burn with self-loathing she has only ever seen in her own reflection. “They all died because of my cowardice. Because I wanted so badly to believe it wasn’t real. I’ve spent my life making up for that.”

 

“That’s why,” she breathes, her eyes widening with the realization. “That’s why you won’t let anyone touch you. Keeping the visions is your penance.”

 

He nods. “I promised myself I would never be cowardly again.”

 

It explains so much about him. Things she hadn’t even thought needed an explanation, things she’d merely attributed to her odd little prophet. His distaste for war. The way he’s so desperate to show mercy even to those who don’t deserve it – even an insignificant doe in the forest.

 

She looks at him, her vulnerable, stubborn, maddeningly noble Seer, and aches to wrap him in her arms. Instead, she lets the water carry her a little closer and says, “Cowardly is the last thing I would call you.” She tilts her head, squinting at him. “Ridiculous. Clumsy. Idiot.” He huffs at her and she’s gratified to see some of that weight lift from his shoulders – if only for a while. “But not cowardly.”

 

He scratches his cheek. “Thanks. I think.”

 

She winks at him, watching him cast a bashful glance below her shoulders. The moment he realizes what he’s doing he flushes and looks away again, scrubbing at his neck. “You’re welcome,” she finally says, infusing the words with as much innuendo as she can manage.

 

The Seer sighs, apparently despairing of her. When he meets her gaze, he’s unusually somber. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not any of it.”

 

She breathes in, realizing they’re so close that she can catch the scent of pine and possibilities that clings to his skin. “Why tell me?”

 

His eyes light up with boyish wonder and River can’t help but stare at him. “I have absolutely no idea,” he confides in a whisper.

 

She laughs and the current pushes her closer. The Seer doesn’t try to float away from her. Instead, his hand lifts up as if it has a mind of its own and his fingertips hover tantalizing over a damp curl against her cheek. He stares at it raptly, like he’s imagining what it might be like to touch it.

 

River knows the feeling well.

 

It takes willpower she didn’t even know she possessed not to tilt her head and let his palm brush her cheek. She swallows heavily, caught in his gaze. He’s so close. Too close. She can see the flecks of green in his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. It’s too much. _He_ is too much. Too beautiful and brave and stupid and the only thing she can think about is covering that trembling mouth of his with her own.

 

“River,” he whispers, his eyes wide. “I -”

 

“Ma’am?”

 

They startle apart and it’s only as he lets himself float away from her that River realizes just how close they had come to touching. Her lungs burn like she hasn’t drawn a proper breath in far too long and her hands shake as she turns to stare at the embankment.

 

Nardole balances on a rock – the very one she’d yanked the Seer from earlier – and shields his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Lunch is ready, Ma’am,” he calls. “You might want to hurry. Octavian’s feeling quite peckish today.”

 

She nods, still struggling to catch her breath as she watches her Seer reach the embankment and drag himself from the river. “Thank you, Nardole,” she says absently, and waves him away.

 

The Seer glances swiftly at her, turns to scrub a hand over his face, and dutifully follows Nardole back to camp without a backward glance. River makes it to shore and stands shivering in the grass, gathering her clothes and cursing her own idiocy.

 

She’d almost touched her Seer. She had almost destroyed the most important weapon she has in this damned war and for what? Love? She scoffs under her breath. Love is a fairytale. It belongs to people like her parents. Good, kind, noble people. It doesn’t belong to someone like her. Desire, perhaps. Feelings her Seer could never hope to reciprocate because she is everything he stands against.

 

She had nearly lost the war to snog a virgin. Clutching her shift to her chest, River grits her teeth and swears to herself that it will not happen again. There is no place for softness on the battlefield.

 

And yet, as she dresses slowly, she knows with a knot of dread in her stomach that it is far too late. She had allowed weakness to seep its filthy way into her battle plans long ago – the moment she had absconded with her little prophet and gave him something in return she hadn’t even realized she still possessed.


	6. i could feel myself under your fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blue book is a little temptress – not unlike the owner of said blue book, come to think of it. It rests innocently on top of River’s pillow on her bed, the cracked blue leather beguiling him; the fullness of the well-thumbed pages beckoning him. Come closer, the dented spine seems to whisper. Let me tell you a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which John snoops and River faces an unworthy opponent. 
> 
> Chapter title from Into Dust by Mazzy Star.

The blue book is a little temptress – not unlike the owner of said blue book, come to think of it. It rests innocently on top of River’s pillow on her bed, the cracked blue leather beguiling him; the fullness of the well-thumbed pages beckoning him. _Come closer_ , the dented spine seems to whisper. _Let me tell you a secret_.

 

River isn’t in the habit of leaving her the book. She keeps it close to her like a sacred talisman that might bring her luck. This morning had been an exception. She’d been in such a hurry to ride out with Ramone and catch breakfast before their journey to Libris that she’d completely forgotten to tuck it into her satchel as she usually did.

 

Hovering at the edge of her bed and staring at the book, the Seer wavers between respecting her privacy and his burning need to understand the little mysteries that make up the enigma of River Song. Even as he senses the danger that could come from touching this book, feels visions of it fluttering around the edge of his consciousness, there isn’t really a choice to make. He can never resist a mystery.

 

With the deep breath of one about to plunge headfirst into a river, the Seer reaches out a hand and picks up the blue book. He strokes the design carved into the cover with reverent fingertips, savoring the worn creak of the leather as he flips it open to the first page. Just as he’d suspected, it’s a diary. The page is covered in River’s curling script and his eyes scan the words hungrily.

 

_The noble and generous legacy my parents left behind has grown into a mere fairytale. Some lovely story mothers whisper to their children to chase away the nightmares. A beautiful and kind Queen, a noble King devoted to his wife and his people. A bountiful kingdom wrapped in years and years of peace._

_It was real once, but not anymore. Most consider it a myth and who can blame them when their reality now has grown so twisted and dark and ugly? When all they know is war because their Queen demands it? They don’t understand it’s the only way to fix what’s been broken._

_And then what? Those who have known peace before will have it again but what of those of us who have been born into battle? War is in my blood. She made sure of it and I don’t know how to get it out without bleeding myself dry._

 

River’s words grip him even as he grapples with their meaning and he sinks onto the edge of her bed absently. Flipping through the pages like a starving child presented with a feast, he devours glimpses of her innermost thoughts.

 

Some of it makes his blood run cold. _I hate her. I wish I had her in front of me so I could kill her again. Make her beg like she made them beg._

 

Sometimes she makes him laugh. _Ramone has such a pretty face and every time I look at it, I mourn that he’s so dreadfully dull._

 

And then she makes his eyes well with tears, even if he doesn’t quite understand why. _What if I can’t do this? What if I’m never more than Kovarian’s protégé? I’m too much like her. I’ll never live up to the fairytale people remember._

 

He seizes on Kovarian’s name instantly, gripping the book tighter in his hands as he scans for another mention of the mysterious woman so often mentioned but never explained. Who was she to River? A mother? She speaks of her with too much loathing for that to be true. A mentor? An enemy?

 

Frustrated that not even River’s diary seems willing to give him an answer, the Seer scours the pages with increasing voracity. “There has to be something,” he mutters, turning another page. “Come on, River. Just one tiny clue…”

 

He spots his own name before he finds another mention of Kovarian. He pauses, scanning the date for the entry to make certain she isn’t referring to some other Seer but no. She’d written this a mere week ago. His heart pounds and every instinct that has kept him alive so far is screaming at him to close the book but he reads on anyway.

 

_I nearly lost two very different wars today. The one I wage in the name of my kingdom and the one in which I must protect my heart from a very clumsy thief. I looked at my Seer – floating in the river alongside me, his awful confession hanging in the air between us – and there was nothing I wanted more than to touch. I could have ruined everything. Very nearly did. Would gladly have done so for the sake of a kiss._

_Kovarian always said love was a weakness not many could afford. It terrifies me that someone so evil could talk such sense. She’d been right. The price of loving my idiot prophet is far too high._

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

Horrified to hear the angry snarl of a familiar voice so very close to him, the Seer jumps up in fright and the diary falls from his lap and hits the floor. “River,” he breathes, but one glance at her stony face undoes him. He looks away quickly, too ashamed to meet her gaze as he drops to his knees and scrambles for the book on the floor. “It isn’t what it looks like. I was just -”

 

“Just reading my diary?” She drops her satchel by the entrance of her tent and marches up to him, snatching the book from his shaking grasp. Her cheeks flushed red with fury and her eyes glittering, her golden curls unnaturally wild, she looks every inch the Queen who makes whole villages shake in their shoes. Her gaze narrows and her jaw clenches. He feels everything within him quake. “How dare you.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, knowing it’s nothing but a paltry, useless platitude. Wretched guilt fills his stomach and it’s all he can do to meet her eyes. “Really, I am. I just wanted to -”

 

“Shut up,” she hisses, and he obeys with a gulp. Her voice remains dangerously quiet. Deadly in its calm. “The only reason I haven’t slapped you silly is because I need you intact.”

 

He ducks his head. “Sorry,” he murmurs again, wincing. “But I just wanted to -”

 

“What?” she snaps, and he grimaces. “Just wanted to what? What reason could you possibly have for invading my privacy?”

 

“I wanted to know you, River,” he shouts, finally lifting his head to look at her imploringly. Fury still burns in her eyes but she says nothing, watching him silently. “You never tell me anything. I told you my whole miserable life story the other week and I still don’t know the first thing about you.”

 

She scoffs. “We spend nearly every waking moment together -”

 

“That isn’t the same and you know it.” He scowls, his earlier guilt vanished in the face of what’s truly bothering him. River Song has become his closest confidante – the woman who knows everything about him – and yet her secrets remain her own. “I know what you choose to show me. What you want me to see. Which is a hell of a lot less than I’d like.”

 

River makes an impatient noise. “What’s so important that you needed to snoop about in my personal things to find out then?”

 

“Fine, here’s an example.” He meets her furious gaze without flinching. “Who is Kovarian?”

 

He only sees the shift in her eyes because he’d been looking – the way her entire expression changes from barely contained rage to the careful blankness of a sphinx guarding her secrets. “I told you never to mention her.”

 

The Seer growls under his breath. “See, this is what I’m talking about.” He tugs at his hair, pacing away from her only to whirl back around and glare. “Why can’t you confide in me?”

 

“Because I am a Queen, not your bloody childhood friend,” she snaps, and he’s almost relieved to see her anger return. Anything is better than that empty expression. River Song is many things but one thing she has never been is empty. She’s always full to brimming with anger and brilliance and carefully hidden softness and that smug superiority that makes him smile in spite of himself. “I can’t tell you everything.”

 

“All right,” he says, conceding the point with a nod. He searches out her eyes, pleading with her. “So don’t tell me everything. But tell me something. Anything. Your choice.”

 

She stares at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

 

He deflates and there’s no keeping the wounded uncertainty from slipping into his voice. “After everything, River… Don’t you trust me?”

 

“I did,” she finally replies, and the words shatter him. When her eyes meet his he wishes she would look away again. There is too much betrayal in that gaze and he can’t possibly bear the weight of it. “I told you once that I didn’t see you as a cowardly man and I meant it. I couldn’t think of anything braver than keeping those visions after I saw what they did to you. But do you know what I think now, Seer? I think they’ve become your crutch; your way of keeping anyone from ever getting too close. Maybe you kept them once to be brave but now you keep them because you’re afraid.”

 

Stricken, he stares at her with wide eyes. “River -”

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

Ramone pokes his head into the tent and River turns away, refusing to look at either of them. Arms wrapped around her middle, she stares blankly ahead and asks, “What is it, Ramone?”

 

Glancing tentatively between his stiff Queen and her pale Seer, he says, “We’re ready to set out for Libris, Ma’am.”

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, shutting her eyes. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

 

With another curious glance between them, Ramone murmurs his agreement and bows out of the tent. He leaves nothing but tense silence in his wake. The Seer stares at his feet, waiting for River to leave without so much as a goodbye. Before he can fumble for something to say, anything that might begin to mend what’s been broken between them, his head begins to ache. _Oh no_.

 

He sways in place for a moment, reaching out to steady himself against a nearby chest of drawers. His breath comes in short huffs and as the future sears itself into his brain, he feels set on fire with it but he still manages to stutter out, “R-river -”

 

She turns at once and he only has time to see the hard expression on her face soften before his eyes roll back in his head and the whole world disappears. The vision is a familiar one; the very same future that had broken his heart weeks ago – River bleeding out on a battlefield, alone in a sea of corpses. Only one thing has changed. He knows where it is.

 

Eyes snapping open, he stares fearfully at River leaning over him.

 

“What is it?” She asks, brow furrowed. “What did you see?”

 

“Libris.”

 

She frowns. “There’s where we’re going.”

 

“You can’t,” he breathes, struggling to sit up. The world tilts and spins but he grits his teeth and stumbles to his feet, gripping River’s bedpost to remain upright. “Please, just stay here.”

 

River stares at him as though he’s grown an extra head. “Have you finally lost what little sanity you’ve been clinging to? I can’t stay here. I have a city to destroy.”

 

He shakes his head and when the movement unsettles his unsteady equilibrium. He clings to the bedpost in an effort to stay on his feet but also to keep from gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her. “You don’t have to, River. Remember what I said?” He meets her wide eyes with a grim smile. “There’s a choice. Always.”

 

“Maybe for you.” She turns from him and his heart wrenches painfully when he realizes she’s reaching for her satchel on the floor. “The rest of us don’t have that luxury.”

 

“River, please no -”

 

“Hush,” she snaps, slipping the strap of her satchel onto her shoulder. “We’ll discuss this when I get back. Try not to destroy any more of my trust until then.”

 

The Seer stares at her retreating back and comes to the horrifying realization that he has fallen completely and utterly head over heels for the infuriating, murder-happy Queen who had stolen him from his home in the middle of the night. He even dares to venture he had been in love for quite some time. Possibly even from the moment he’d seen her in a vision – the force of nature in glinting armor, her wild curls tumbling down her back and her sword shining in the sun.

 

Yes. He had loved her even then.

 

And he is seconds from losing her. Unless he speaks. Desperation and love, all wrapped up in one panicked knot in his chest, force the frantic words up and out. “River if you go to Libris you are _going to die_.”

 

She freezes, her hand hovering over the flap of her tent. She turns her head, peering at him suspiciously over her shoulder. “What?”

 

He swallows. “I saw you die.”

 

River peers at him carefully. “Just now?”

 

“No,” he whispers, dropping his gaze in shame. “Weeks ago.”

 

He can’t quite bring himself to look at her but the sound of her voice, as cold and hard as ice, tells him everything he needs to know. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

He risks a peek at her through the fringe falling messily into his eyes, and when their gazes lock, everything within him quivers. “You know why,” he whispers.

 

River huffs out a humorless laugh and there is so much disappointment in the sound – disappointment in him – that he feels his knees wobble. He tightens his grip on her bedpost until his knuckles ache, staring miserably at her from the other side of the room and knowing she has every right to hate him.

 

He has betrayed her in so many ways. He had read her diary, yes, but he had also broken his word. At the very start he had promised to relay to her every relevant vision he had and just weeks ago, he’d confided in her another promise he’d made at the age of eight years old. Never cowardly. Not again.

 

River looks at him like she couldn’t fathom a lower of opinion of him than the one she has right now. Even as he wilts under her gaze, he can’t help but marvel. No one has ever had the power to make him feel quite so small before. Of course it would be her. The one person he wants to stand tall for.

 

“I hate you.” River hurls her diary at him and he doesn’t move, letting it smack him in the shoulder and drop with a thud to the floor. She sniffles, hatred burning in her tear-filled eyes as she hisses, “Coward.”

 

It’s the last thing she says to him before she turns on her heel and walks away.

 

-

 

River Song has looked death in the face before. If death happened to be a person, they would be old friends on a first name basis with a standing teatime together once a month. It’s impossible to live the life she leads and not to be familiar with death. The thing is, River had always assumed that when her time came, she would be ready.

 

She doesn’t have time to die right now. She has a war to win and a kingdom to restore and there simply isn’t time for something as dramatic and distracting as death. Unfortunately for her, her Seer is the best there is. If he saw her die at the battle of Libris then this is where she dies. But she’ll be damned if she doesn’t put up a hell of a fight first.

 

She hears the arc of the blade through the air before she actually sees it, crouching low to avoid the deadly swing before leaping back to her feet again. Hand tight around the hilt of her weapon, she whirls and faces her opponent. He’s huge. Twice her size and built of solid muscle.

 

River arches an eyebrow and shouts from beneath her helmet, “About time you showed up. I will not suffer the indignity of a small death.” When he merely stares at her in perplexed silence, she sighs. “Just make it good, all right, Tiny?”

 

She raises her sword and he lunges.

 

For a while she manages to lose herself in the ringing clash of swords filling the air, the practiced movements of combat – feinting back and lunging forward, anticipating her opponent’s every move. Other little princesses had lessons in etiquette and dancing. River had been given lessons in how to kill a man in three moves or less.

 

Their swords meet and spark, neither of them willing to back down. River slides her blade along his, stepping close enough to look into the eyes of her future killer, and knees him in the groin. He can’t possibly feel it through his armor but he flinches anyway and she smirks. Snapping her head forward, she knocks her helmet against his.

 

“Come on, dear. Are you even trying?”

 

He snarls his reply and she falls back, tossing her sword from hand to hand as she waits for him to attack again. If she’s going to die, he’d better make it good.

 

When he lunges again, she sighs and sidesteps him neatly, making sure to bump his shoulder and send him staggering. “All muscle and no finesse,” she says, tutting. “How disappointing. I was really hoping for a more fitting end.”

 

She can hear him grunting behind her so she whirls to face him, holding her sword out in front of her. For once he actually manages to surprise her by not making the obvious choice. He hasn’t stumbled to his feet just yet, crouched on the ground and aiming his sword low.

 

River hisses through her teeth when his blade manages to find a weakness in her armor, cutting a deep gash into her calf. “All right,” she breathes, forcing away the pain to focus. “That’s more like it.”

 

But Tiny isn’t finished. He takes advantage of her momentary lapse to knock her sword out of her hand with his own, sending it flying too far away for her to immediately dive for it. She curses under her breath, watching him leap to his feet with a satisfied smile.

 

Damn her Seer. This is his fault. If he didn’t have her so distracted with the certainty of her imminent demise she never would have made such a stupid mistake. Her Seer. His ridiculous face flashes through her mind, miserable and defeated as she’d walked away from him, and she stubbornly shoves the image away. She’s still furious with him, her nosey little prophet, but she’d regretted calling him a coward the moment she left. She wonders if he knows. He’s supposed to know everything, after all. He’d better because she clearly won’t be returning to tell him herself.

 

She leaves her sword where it is, ducking out of the way when her opponent swings his blade with all the grace of a drunken child. When she springs back up, it’s with her hands curled into fists. For once, she allows herself to think of that hand-to-hand combat training she’d endured when she was seven. It takes nothing but decent aim to land an uppercut beneath his helmet.

 

Her opponent staggers back in surprise and she uses it to her advantage, lunging forward to knock the sword out of his hand. Stealing it would have been the better choice but getting rid of it is the quicker option. It clatters to the ground several paces away from them and River’s opponent draws himself up to his full, hulking height.

 

He spits out a mouthful of blood and snarls, “Bitch.”

 

She curtsies.

 

Both of them weaponless now, they circle each other with their fists clenched. River waits him out and he doesn’t disappoint. He takes the first swing and she laughs at his clumsy aim before she realizes he isn’t as stupid as he looks. He’d anticipated that she would duck and when she does, he trips her with his massive booted foot.

 

She hits the ground hard and the impact knocks her helmet from her head, sending it clattering across the dirt. River doesn’t even have time to curl into herself before Tiny kicks her so hard he dents her breastplate. Another kick and she feels real pain shooting up her side. Another and her ribs are on fire.

 

With a growl, she waits until he aims his kick again and lashes out, catching his boot in her hand and yanking hard. His arms windmill comically before he loses his balance entirely and hits the ground with the sort of resounding boom she might expect from a damned towering oak in the middle of the forest.

 

She moves quickly but so does Tiny. Grasping arms, they roll around in the dirt, each struggling to get the upper hand. Her opponent has pure brute strength on his side but River is faster. He only manages to get in one well-aimed punch, socking her square on the mouth. She bites down on her tongue and tastes blood in her mouth. She spits it in his face.

 

He roars but he’s too angry to focus properly now. River musters the last of her strength, grunting as she rolls them over and pins him in place with a knee to the throat. He struggles but she doesn’t relent, digging her knee into his throat until he chokes and goes still, glaring at her defiantly.

 

Panting hard as she stares triumphantly down at him, River says, “Calling a Queen a bitch is just uncouth.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “And to think I was going to let you have the glory of killing me.”

 

He starts to struggle again but she moves fast, slipping the knife from her boot and jamming it into his eye. He screams but she doesn’t let him suffer long. Once he goes limp and she’s satisfied he won’t get away, she slits his throat properly and doesn’t stay to watch the light leave his eyes. Well, _eye_.

 

She pats his chest in sympathy and rolls off of him, stumbling painfully to her feet. She’s bleeding and sore but somehow, miraculously still alive. She takes a moment to breathe in the air and locate her sword, staggering to it and picking it up.

 

Taking stock of her surroundings quickly, River scans the battlefield and sees Ramone in the distance, fighting off two men at once and struggling to keep the upper hand. “A lady’s job is never done,” she sighs, and swings her sword over her shoulder.

 

Her ribs ache and the gash in her leg makes it impossible to walk without limping but she grips her sword tightly and cuts her way through the fray. By the time she makes it to Ramone it’s a little more difficult to breathe and she can feel the warm blood dripping down her leg but she wastes no time coming to his rescue.

 

He’s kept both men at bay valiantly but she can see that he’s beginning to weaken. One slip is all it takes and he’ll be dead. Ramone can’t die today. She refuses to share her death with anyone but especially not him. With a snarl, River comes up behind one of the men and slides her sword right through his gut.

 

While he’s choking on his own blood, she abandons her blade in his back and turns her attention to his comrade in arms. He’s in the middle of turning to see who just killed his friend but he never gets the chance to lay eyes on her. River snaps his neck in one elegant movement. He falls where he stands, his sword still clutched in his fist.

 

Turning to the profusely sweating Ramone before her, River smiles brightly. “Having fun yet?”

 

“River!”

 

She starts, whirling at the sound of his familiar voice, and gapes at her Seer trotting through the wreckage on a horse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Saving you!”

 

He grins breathlessly at her and if she wasn’t still furious with him, she might have been charmed. “I don’t need your help,” she snaps. “Turn around and go back to camp before you get yourself killed, you idiot.”

 

“I’m not just going to sit at camp and wait for you to -” He trails off, his wide eyes focused on something just behind her. She feels her stomach pitch with dread. This can’t be it, can it? It’s not _dignified_. “River, look out -”

 

She turns just in time to feel the sharp sting of the blade piercing her side.


	7. i see your fate in the palm of your hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment she falls, everything around him seems to speed up while the Seer slows down. It feels like a nightmare, the kind where he runs and runs and never gets anywhere. It takes days to leap from his horse and centuries to stumble across the bloodied field to reach her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which fate is fought, the Seer tells a secret, and River returns the favor.
> 
> Chapter title from Oracle by Tender.

After she leaves, his knees finally give out from underneath him and he sinks back onto the edge of her bed. His head pounding and his stomach tied into knots, he doesn’t move until he hears the heavy sound of hoof beats as River leads her men out of camp. His eyes begin to sting and he shuts them tightly, scrubbing furiously at his face.

 

So that’s it then? She rides off to her death and he sits here and waits for her loyal soldiers to carry her body back to camp? It can’t end like this. He won’t let it. With a determined growl, he staggers to his feet again and lurches forward. “Nardole!”

 

He bursts from River’s tent, startling her manservant. Nardole whirls from the fire he’d been stoking, his eyes wide. “Sir?”

 

“I need a horse.”

 

Nardole sputters, abandoning the fire completely. “A horse? You can’t leave! Her Majesty would have my head on a platter.”

 

The Seer stalks forward and his determination must show through his eyes because Nardole looks increasingly nervous as he approaches. “If I don’t go after her, you won’t have to worry about your head because River won’t be alive to take it.”

 

“Oh good.” Nardole sighs in relief, then begins to frown as the Seer’s words sink in. “Wait, what?”

 

The Seer bares his teeth. “Nardole, I don’t have time for this. I have to go after River.”

 

He squeaks in panic. “But you can’t!”

 

“And who’s going to stop me?” The Seer raises his brows, smiling grimly. “To stop me you’d have to touch me. Are you going to be the one to explain to River how I lost my visions?”

 

Nardole gulps audibly.

 

He rides as fast as he can toward Libris but the three-hour journey seems to take days. There is nothing for him to do but keep his eyes fixed on the horizon and relive that horrible vision over and over again, wondering from one minute to the next if this is the moment some faceless soldier with a sword takes River away from him. He wonders if she’s still fighting or if he’s far too late to save her; if she’s lying somewhere in the dirt, alone and bleeding; if she’s staring sightlessly up at the blue sky as the life fades away from her.

 

He tortures himself with such morbid thoughts until the city of Libris appears over the horizon and the distant sound of fighting reaches his ears. His horse, being one of River’s animals, has no qualms about riding into the chaos. The brilliant creature doesn’t even hesitate, carrying the Seer right into the heat of battle.

 

It’s only his foresight that keeps him alive, showing him in flashes who to avoid and which way to direct his horse to keep from getting beheaded. He slows his pace in the middle of the carnage, gripping the reins of his horse and struggling not to see any of the senseless bloodshed around him but it’s impossible to ignore. The coppery smell of blood is so heavy in the air he can taste it on his tongue.

 

Shoving aside his growing nausea, the Seer squares his jaw. He has to find River.

 

He scans the battlefield with a knot in his stomach, all the while knowing it could be too late. She might have fallen already. He shakes his head violently to dispel the thought, refusing to acknowledge it. Her men are still fighting. She has to be alive here somewhere.

 

A flash of gold out of the corner of his eye catches his attention and when he snaps his head in its direction, tears of relief sting his eyes. There she is – wielding a blood-painted sword and grinning brightly at Ramone, utterly at ease in the midst of such violence. She looks a bit ragged around the edges, her hair wild and her eyes feral. She’s covered in blood but he can’t tell if any of it belongs to her. When she moves, she seems to be favoring one leg over the other with a slight limp.

 

None of it matters. She’s still alive.

 

Heart soaring, the Seer calls out to her. “River!”

 

She whirls, her eyes widening. Even at a distance, he can see the horror dawning across her face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

He scoffs, digging his heels into the sides of his horse to inch along through the fallen bodies toward her. “Saving you!”

 

To his amusement, River scowls at him. “I don’t need your help. Turn around and go back to camp before you get yourself killed, you idiot.”

 

He scoffs, forging ahead anyway. “I’m not just going to sit at camp and wait for you to -” He trails off, his gaze drawn to the figure rapidly approaching her from behind. Too busy glaring at him, River doesn’t even notice. His heart leaps. “River, look out -”

 

Frozen atop his horse, the Seer can do nothing but stare helplessly as River turns to face her opponent. She has no time to react. His whole world narrows, shrinking in on itself as he watches her stagger under the force of the blade piercing her body.

 

“River, no!”

 

The moment she falls, everything around him seems to speed up while the Seer slows down. It feels like a nightmare, the kind where he runs and runs and never gets anywhere. It takes days to leap from his horse and centuries to stumble across the bloodied field to reach her side. While he struggles to reach River, Ramone wrestles her assailant to the ground with a roar that the Seer can barely hear over the horrific ringing in his ears.

 

When he finally reaches her, he collapses at her side, his knees hitting the dirt hard. His eyes are drawn to her wound immediately, gaping and angry and so very deadly. Blood seeps between her shaking fingers. “River,” he breathes, his voice choked with tears and panic. “River, what do I do?”

 

Gaze pained and face twisted into a grimace, River smiles faintly. “Say goodbye, Seer.”

 

He growls, a helpless whimper through clenched teeth. “ _No_.”

 

River watches through half-lidded eyes as he struggles out of his tunic. “Un-undressing for me now that I’m dying?” She coughs, grimacing. “Such a tease.”

 

“Shut up,” he snaps, wadding the tunic into a ball and pressing it against her wound. River hisses in pain, her eyes fluttering shut. “River, _no_. Keep your eyes open.”

 

He reaches for her, intending to pat her cheek and keep her awake, but her eyes flutter open again and she recoils instantly at seeing him so close. “Don’t ,” she rasps, her breathing growing more labored by the minute. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

 

“Stay awake then.” He presses his tunic harder into her side and River whimpers. The sound is so helpless and so pitiful, so entirely unlike the force of nature he has come to know, that the Seer feels tears sting his eyes. “I’m sorry, River. I’m so sorry-”

 

“Shut up,” she whispers, eyes slipping shut again. “And let me die in peace.”

 

Blood seeps through the cloth he holds against her wound, staining his fingers red. He swallows thickly. “You’re not dying.”

 

“Your vision…”

 

“Forget my vision,” he snaps. “Since when do you let anyone else tell you what to do, eh?”

 

He stares intently at the blood on his hands. Maybe if he just hopes hard enough then he can take it all back. He could make himself stay at the campsite, far away from here. He wouldn’t have distracted River, wouldn’t have caused his own vision to come true just by trying to keep her safe.

 

“Just hold on, River.” He glances up, searching out her gaze. His heart lurches when he finds her eyes shut. “River?”

 

She doesn’t reply, pale and far too still.

 

The Seer reaches for her, his hand shaking. “River, please no -”

 

Before he can touch her, Ramone drops to his knees on the other side of her. Spattered in blood, he pushes the hair from River’s face and searches out a pulse. “Come on, Your Majesty,” he mutters grimly. “Not like this…”

 

Frozen with envy, the Seer watches him touch River freely and asks, “The man who did this. Is he…?”

 

Ramone nods once. “Dead.”

 

He swallows. “Good.”

 

Glancing at him in surprise, Ramone offers him a brief, appraising stare. “Get your horse. We need to take her to the healer.”

 

The Seer blinks at him, startled out of his mounting grief. He licks his lips and his voice comes out a weak croak, shaky with barely restrained hope. “She’s alive?”

 

Busy gathering River into his arms, Ramone replies stiffly, “For now.”

 

Tears fill his eyes but for the first time in hours, they aren’t tears of fear and loss. He laughs brokenly, beaming at Ramone. When he speaks this time, his voice is just as quiet but stronger now. Certain. “She’s alive.”

 

-

 

The War Doctor is waiting for them when they arrive, as if he’d known somehow. He squints against the glaringly brilliant sunset on the horizon, watching them approach. Ramone carries River’s limp body while the Seer hovers anxiously at his side, unable to tear his longing gaze away from her.

 

“What happened?”

 

“She’s been wounded -”

 

“I can see that, young man.” The War Doctor makes an exasperated noise but says patiently, “Bring the Queen in here, please.”

 

Ramone ducks into the tent with River and the Seer staggers after them like River possesses some sort of hold over his very being, tugging him along behind her by an invisible cord. He carefully weaves his way through the soldiers crowded around outside the healer’s tent, bursting inside and nearly tripping in his haste.

 

River has been settled onto a cot in the corner and the War Doctor pauses in the middle of tugging off her battle gear to stare disapprovingly at him over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of the Queen,” he says, his weathered face solemn. “The two of you should wait outside.”

 

Ramone scrubs a weary hand over his face and nods. “Of course. I’ll give you room to work. I should speak to everyone anyway. If anything happens, you’re to update me on her condition immediately.”

 

The War Doctor waves him away with a grunt and when Ramone ducks out of the tent, turns his attention expectantly to the Seer. He crosses his arms over his chest and says, “I’m staying.”

 

Eyes crinkling, the War Doctor sighs. “I thought you might say that. Luckily for you, I don’t have time to argue.” He waves a hand at a chair in the corner of the room. “Sit down and don’t get in the way.”

 

He hesitates, still unable to take his eyes from River lying so still on the cot. “I could help.”

 

“How?” The War Doctor busies himself with tossing aside River’s armor and gathering supplies. “You can’t even touch her.”

 

“I would,” he says instantly. He’d have touched her on the battlefield without hesitation if she hadn’t rebuffed him and now is no different. All those years spent protecting his visions, living in isolation and wallowing in guilt, but none of it means more than keeping River alive. He’d throw away his visions for far less when it comes to her. _For a kiss_ , she’d written in her blue book. “If it’ll help her I’ll do whatever it takes.”

 

“A very admirable vow, young man.” The War Doctor begins stripping River out of her bloody undergarments. The Seer flushes and averts his gaze. “Now stop being so dramatic and have a seat. The Queen would have your head and mine if I let you throw away your gift.”

 

Reluctantly, the Seer retreats to the corner of the room and stays out of the healer’s way. He tries to watch him work but his attention keeps straying back to River – her usually honeyed skin far too pale against the bloodied white sheets and the gash in her side that seems to be seeping red far too quickly. “Will she – I mean, is she going to be all right?”

 

“She’s losing too much blood,” the War Doctor mutters. His weathered but efficient hands disinfect the wound with a cloth and a bottle of spirits. “But if I can stop it and stitch her up then she’ll be fine. She’s very lucky – the blade seems to have missed anything vital.”

 

The tightness in his chest that had been making it impossible to draw a proper breath since she’d left him hours ago finally dissipates at the old man’s reassurance and the Seer slumps back in his chair, drawing a shaky breath into his burning lungs. His eyes linger on River just the same, watching the healer steadily stitch her wound closed.

 

Before he knows it, the War Doctor wipes his bloody hands on a cloth and turns to him with a smile that makes his gray mustache twitch. He takes one look at the Seer, slouched in the corner with his eyes rimmed red and swollen, and says, “Cheer up, lad. I’ve been looking after the Queen since she was a tot skinning her knees in the palace gardens. If I know anything about her, she’ll be up and about terrorizing the likes of you and everyone else in a day or two.”

 

The Seer forces a smile that only grows more genuine the longer he thinks of a tiny River Song in a dress fit for a princess, roaming the palace with skinned knees and a miniature sword. “I hope so.”

 

Holding up his red-stained hands, the War Doctor says, “I’m off to wash up. Look after her, will you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

The War Doctor pauses in the doorway, his mustache twitching again. “There’s a pair of gloves in my satchel over there if you’re interested.”

 

With that, he turns and leaves. The Seer doesn’t even wait until his footsteps have faded away before he dives for the satchel and roots through it for the gloves. His hands shake as he slips them on, dropping to his knees beside River’s cot and grasping her hand greedily. It isn’t until he finally has his fingers laced through hers and he’s staring at her dark lashes against her pale cheek, the smell of blood still hanging heavy in the air, that he finally lets himself wonder.

 

How is she still alive? He saw her die. It most certainly had not been a dream. He’d learned a very long time ago how different dreams and visions feel and he had truly seen River die. She’d fallen to some unseen adversary and lay bleeding on the ground, the life fading from her eyes. He’d felt her soul leave her body. And yet here she is, bloodied and bruised but alive. So beautifully alive.

 

The Seer allows a smile to tug at his lips. He should have known River Song is not a woman to surrender so easily – not even to something as mighty and inevitable as fate.

 

-

 

When she wakes in the morning, he’s still holding her hand. He’d refused to leave her side during the night, watching over her as she slept and not allowing himself to doze off lest something happen when he wasn’t looking. And now, as the sun settles soft and warm over the camp, washing the grounds in pale yellow light, he watches with his heart in his throat as River finally begins to stir.

 

“Hello there, Sleeping Beauty.”

 

She peers at him drowsily through half-lidded eyes and licks her lips. “Seer?”

 

He shakes his head, squeezing her hand. “Theta,” he whispers, smiling weakly. “Call me Theta.”

 

Her eyes widen but true to form, she doesn’t let surprise stop her for long. She hums low in her throat and repeats, “Theta. I like it. Feels… _intimate_.”

 

He flushes and the last of his worry leaves him as he scolds, “ _River_.” She laughs weakly and when it turns into a feeble cough, he quickly fetches the cup of water beside her cot. He lifts it to her lips and it’s a testament to how fragile she still is that she actually lets him help her, sipping from the cup until it’s half-drained. “Better?”

 

She nods, licking her lips, and falls back against her pillows again. A bead of water drips along her jawline and into her hair and the Seer follows it with his eyes. Before he can stop himself, his gloved fingertips follow the path, wiping away the moisture. River shudders, her eyes closing. “What are you doing?”

 

He has no idea. Choosing to play the oblivious fool, he says, “Taking care of you. Obviously.” When River arches an eyebrow, he grins. “Couldn’t find the healer so I had to stitch you up myself. Never done it before but I think I have a knack for it. I tore up one of your gowns for thread and sewed up the wound in the shape of Ramone’s initials. Should be a wicked scar.”

 

She glares at him but doesn’t deign to comment further. “Why are you here? Watching over me and holding my cup while I drink? Why did you even come after me?” She shakes her head, staring at their joined hands. “We had a row, remember? And I’m still _furious_ with you.”

 

His smile wavers but he squeezes her fingers. “We fought, River. That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. I had to follow you. I-” He swallows, setting his jaw when he feels his chin begin to quiver. “You scared the life out of me. I thought – you were supposed to -”

 

“Die, yes.” She doesn’t seem to notice his flinch, smirking to herself. “Apparently it’s the one thing in which I haven’t managed to excel.”

 

“The one thing?” He teases, forcing some lightness into his voice. “What about embroidery and teatime etiquette? Common decency? Keeping your temper?”

 

“Oh shut up, Seer,” she huffs, and then amends, “Theta.”

 

His smile at the sound of his name on her lips is wide and entirely involuntary. River doesn’t smile in return, her gaze skittering away from him. She licks her lips and studies her bruised knuckles. “You read my diary.”

 

His joy at hearing her speak his name evaporates entirely at the sound of true betrayal in her voice. “I did,” he whispers, searching out her eyes without reward. “And I’m sorry, River.”

 

“You should get some rest.” She still won’t look at him and he feels his stomach sink with disappointment as she orders him away from her. “Leave me.”

 

He nods woodenly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course.”

 

As he turns to go, he hears his name again and that same spark of wild delight erupts within him. He glances hopefully over his shoulder. Biting her lip, River stares at her knees and asks with the timidity he would never have believed such a Queen possessed, “You’ll come back later?”

 

He finally smiles again, bright and relieved. “The moment my eyes are open.”

 

-

 

As River spends the next few days recovering, the Seer begins to think someone should see about changing the old adage about doctors making the worst patients – certainly Queens are much worse. Under strict orders to rest until she’s completely healed, she requires continuous surveillance and not because she wants to be waited on hand and foot. In fact, any sort of coddling at all seems to only infuriate her. No, she needs constant attention because the minute she’s alone, she tries to escape.

 

The Seer and the War Doctor have caught her in the middle of escape attempts at least twice a day since she woke. Once, she had managed to get all the way to her tent before they caught her in the middle of trying to put on her armor and pick up a sword. She’d collapsed before she could get very far and the War Doctor had carried her back to her cot, the Seer trailing behind her and fretting about her stitches.

 

The best way to make certain River doesn’t hamper her own recovery is to stay by her side every moment, which is exactly what he intends to do. River wavers constantly between mollified to have some sort of entertainment to outraged at being minded. Thankfully, at the moment she seems to be feeling benevolent.

 

Sitting in a chair beside her bed, he’s in the middle of telling her about the time he had gotten caught stealing eggs from a neighbor’s henhouse – _“it was Koschei’s idea, River, stop looking at me like that!”_ \- and for the most part River has been content to listen. She even almost smiles when he reaches the part about being chased away by a rooster. But even as he reaches the best bit of his story, he knows he doesn’t really have her full attention. Something is on her mind.

 

He keeps talking but he watches her out of the corner of his eye, seeing the way she stares off into the distance and worries her lip between her teeth. She fiddles with the frayed edge of the bandage wrapped around her middle and absently slips her leg out from beneath her blanket, warm in the mid-afternoon heat. Her golden skin is slightly flushed and he can see a thin sheen of sweat forming across her brow. The sight of her is so distracting that he forgets to keep talking.

 

River glances up the minute he falls quiet but to his surprise, she doesn’t smirk when she finds him staring at her so avidly. Instead, she says something he hadn’t expected at all. “A Seer’s name is a sacred thing.” She surveys him quietly, every inch the warrior Queen forming battle plans – calculating the weapons she’ll need and looking for weakened defenses. Clearly, she’s been thinking about this for days. “Why tell me?”

 

He shrugs. “Because I wanted to.” Because after he’d betrayed her trust and nearly gotten her killed all in the same day, the least he could do was offer her something no one else left alive knows. “And I trust you to keep it safe.”

 

Her eyes narrow. “You’re an idiot then. I took you from your home against your will. What makes you think I have any moral compunctions about safeguarding your name?”

 

“Because I know you.” His smile widens. “And you’re wrong, you know. You didn’t kidnap me. I’m a Seer, River. Do you really think I didn’t know you were coming?”

 

She frowns, her brow furrowing as she murmurs, “I always wondered… But if you knew I was coming why would you stay there?”

 

His gaze skitters away from her, looking everywhere else as he confesses, “I saw you in a vision and I just… had to meet you.” Gathering his courage, he sets his jaw and finally makes himself meet her stare head on. “I wanted you to find me.”

 

River shakes her head, staring into his eyes like she might find answers there. “Why?”

 

Because he had fallen for her the second he’d seen her. It had been easy to forget in the chaos that followed her arrival, in the blood and death that River tends to leave in her wake, but he’d remembered eventually. And he hasn’t forgotten since. “I know you don’t like to believe it but there is good in you, River. And I could see that even if you can’t or won’t.”

 

Scoffing, River kicks her blanket away completely, banishing it to the foot of her cot. Her legs are bare and though he’s seen much more of her before, he still blushes and looks away. Only River could make even something as mundane as knees sexy. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m everything you hate.”

 

“No,” he says softly, seeking out her gaze even as she avoids him adamantly. “You’re really not. I know that’s what you want me to believe but I’m not blind, River. I know you’re kinder than you want people to see. I know you’re scared. I just wish you would tell me why.”

 

She juts out her chin, stubbornly regal even injured and laid up in bed. “Watch your tongue. I’m not afraid of anything or anyone.”

 

“Not even Kovarian?”

 

River’s eyes flash dangerously but she’s simply still too tired and too weak to do anything but deflate into her pillows and snap, “You can’t be afraid of someone who’s long dead.”

 

He swallows and asks the question that’s been plaguing him for days. “By your hand?”

 

He holds his breath and River slides her gaze away. “I had no choice.”

 

Remembering that he’d once told her there was always a choice and that she had called him naive for it, he holds his tongue. She watches him out of the corner of her eye like she’s waiting for him to say it but he only stares back at her patiently, no judgment in his eyes as he requests, “Tell me.”

 

She sets her jaw so tightly he watches as a muscle in her cheek twitches. “I’m tired,” she says, curling up on her side. “I want a nap.” She shuts her eyes in clear dismissal but he still hesitates, lingering reluctantly by her cot until she sighs. “I won’t try to get up, Theta. Go.”

 

Though her eyes are still closed and she can’t even see him, he nods anyway. “Right. Sleep tight then.” He gets up from his chair and slips quietly away, pausing only once to look over his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me anything, River. I’m never going to betray your trust by snooping again. But…” He scratches his cheek, watching her peer at him through her lashes. “I’ll keep you and your secrets safe. Always.”

 

River says nothing in reply and he turns away, leaving her alone for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

When he comes to see her again in the morning, River is in a foul mood. He can tell before he even reaches her, the irate sound of her voice carrying on the wind toward him. He bites back a smile and reaches the healer’s tent just as a flustered Evangelista scurries out with wide eyes.

 

“Blimey, bad day already?”

 

She nods and mutters under her breath, “Don’t get within throwing distance.”

 

He snorts. “Go on then. I’ll get Her Royal Highness to eat something.” He fishes in his pockets for the gloves he carries with him at all times now, slipping them on before he takes the breakfast tray from Evangelista. Balancing it precariously on one hand, he waves her away with the other. “Off you pop.”

 

The poor girl doesn’t hesitate, throwing him a grateful glance and rushing away – probably before he can change his mind. With a sigh, he turns back to the healer’s tent and ducks inside, grinning when he finds River propped up by a substantial mountain of pillows. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be terrorizing your handmaiden?”

 

River glowers. “It’s her fault. No one should be so bloody chipper at this hour.”

 

He sighs, taking his life into his hands as he decides to move closer to her. “She’s just trying to take care of you.”

 

“She’s trying to force feed me,” she mutters, and the Seer swallows a snort of laughter at her petulance.

 

“Well,” he says carefully, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Maybe you should eat something.”

 

River crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not hungry.”

 

He frowns at her. “You need your strength or you’re never going to get better. Starting to enjoy bedrest, then? Just as well. You’ll cause a lot less trouble if you can’t even get up.”

 

She glares at him silently, refusing to rise to the bait. To be fair to her, he knows River isn’t used to sitting still. Being cooped up in bed with people constantly hovering over her has to be driving her spare.

 

With a sigh, he sinks into the chair beside her bed and balances her breakfast tray on her knees. River clutches it before it topples onto her blankets, her glower intensifying. He grins at her. “Care to make a deal with me, Song?”

 

She eyes him suspiciously, clearly but reluctantly intrigued.

 

His smile widens. “If you eat your breakfast like a good girl, I’ll talk to the healer about letting you walk around camp and terrorize your men today.”

 

River blinks at him. “You will?”

 

“Course I will.” He makes an _x_ over his chest with a fingertip. “Cross my heart, Your Majesty.”

 

River picks up a slice of apple from her plate and grumbles, “Don’t call me Your Majesty. Idiot.”

 

Still seated, he offers her a half-hearted, mocking bow that makes her huff and bite viciously into her apple. It’s a small victory but he’s learned in his time with River Song that even the tiniest success deserves celebrating. He leans back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, and watches her eat her breakfast with the triumphant elation he imagines River must have after winning a battle.

 

Considering her mood when he first walked in, he isn’t expecting her to have much to say to him this morning. He’s perfectly content to merely sit beside her and watch the food disappear from her plate but halfway through picking at a chunk of bread with her fingers, she draws in a quiet breath and lets her tense shoulders drop.

 

Without looking at him, she says softly, “Kovarian was the royal advisor of my parents Rory and Amelia – the King and Queen of what is now my kingdom. They were good people. Kind and fair rulers. They were _beloved_.”

 

Stunned right down to his core but unwilling to show it lest she regret confiding in him, the Seer nods silently and whispers, “I know. I’ve heard the stories.”

 

Eyes soft with gratitude, River keeps her attention focused on her half-eaten breakfast. “After they died, I was made Queen at the age of seven years old. I was too young to rule alone so as advisor, Kovarian took me under her wing.” She bites her lip, her eyes distant. “I was just a girl. Pliable and easy to manipulate. And she did. It was almost as good as having the throne herself.”

 

Enraptured by the horrible tale River weaves in that deadly calm voice, the Seer stares at her with a growing knot of dread tangling in his stomach. Without thought, his hand seeks out hers and River lets him lace their fingers together. Even through his glove, he can feel the heat of her hand. He can’t help but marvel that such small hands have caused so much chaos. That such delicate, tidy fingers have created so much destruction.

 

“Kovarian was thirsty for war and she ruled unchecked.” River grinds her teeth together and it takes her a moment to unclench her jaw and keep going. “After all, she had her perfectly molded little warrior Queen as nothing more than a puppet to do her bidding. It took me far too long to learn the truth.”

 

He swallows, not sure he even wants to hear it. “The truth?”

 

River nods shortly, poking viciously at a strawberry with her free hand. “She betrayed my parents. Murdered them just to get me on the throne. I was her little creation – trained and condition for one purpose. To bring death wherever I went.” She takes a deep breath, her eyes wet but her expression worryingly blank. “So I killed her. And I’ve been cleaning up her mess ever since.”

 

The Seer realizes with dawning horror that River had never been the one to steep her kingdom in endless war. She’s only been trying to get them out of it. And yet she’ll always be blamed for the years of suffering because she had been the monarch on the throne. “You’re not afraid of her,” he whispers, the revelation stealing over him and squeezing his heart like a vice. “You’re afraid of becoming her.”

 

River’s hand goes still in his and when he risks a glance at her through his fringe, he finds her watching him fiercely. “I am coming for everyone who had a hand in the death of my parents and in my corruption. Everyone who gloried in Kovarian’s reign of terror and profited from it.” She lifts her chin, regal and mutinous and if he hadn’t already been a bit smitten, that would have done it. “And then I’m going to start over. I’ll be the Queen my people deserve rather than what Kovarian crafted out of war and death.”

 

“You’ll be amazing,” he whispers, and tightens his hold on her hand.

 

“I’ll never be them.” Her eyes water and she bites her lip, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’ll never be remembered as kind and beloved. I’ll never be the benevolent ruler they were but I’ll be damned before I dishonor their legacy by not trying to live up to it. I won’t be her. Not ever.”

 

Her voice wavers as she says it but she watches him defiantly, her whole body tense. Like she’s preparing herself for him to disagree. The Seer reaches up and brushes a curl from her forehead, letting his gloved fingertips linger at the flushed apple of her cheek. “Not ever.”

 

-

 

While River had been cleared to get out of bed and walk about unattended, she is still under strict orders from the War Doctor not to do anything strenuous – which, the old man had scolded, included stepping foot near a battlefield or picking up a sword – but she reasons with herself that technically she isn’t violating his instructions. Her sword is strapped to her side but she doesn’t plan to use it right now and Trenzalore isn’t a battlefield. Yet.

 

Though she refuses to admit it to her healer or her Seer, she hasn’t completely recovered from her ordeal. Her wound is no longer seeping and the stitches are healing nicely but her ribs are still bruised and it hurts like a bastard to sit in the saddle of her horse but she grits her teeth and presses on anyway.

 

Trenzalore is the last place standing that Kovarian’s wickedness had touched. After she topples Queen Tasha, this years-long nightmare will be over and River is determined to finish this as quickly as possible. There isn’t an injury imaginable that could stop her.

 

Waiting outside the city gates is hardly her usual style but considering the magnitude of her approaching victory, she allows herself the momentary weakness. She sits atop her horse in the evening gloom with her army behind her and the city before her quivering with fear. It’s enough to keep her patient for a bit longer.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Her Seer – Theta, she reminds herself with worrying softness – peers up at her from his place beside her horse. “It’s just… you’re still not well and attacking an entire city while you’re injured might possibly be the worst idea anyone has ever had ever and -”

 

“Stop trying to coddle me,” she snaps, directing a glare his way. “I’m fine. You’re the one who refused to stay behind where you belong.”

 

To her utter fury, he’d insisted that if River was going to be reckless then he was going to go too. Since he’d refused to wear any protective gear, sticking out his tongue in childish revulsion, he’s completely defenseless if this little meeting goes south. River has been silently seething at him and refusing to acknowledge it as concern since they left camp that afternoon.

 

Theta sighs noisily but any snarky response he might have made is interrupted by the heavy sound of the city gates heaving open. A hush falls over the rowdy men and women at River’s back as Queen Tasha finally makes her appearance. She’s a slender woman, almost gaunt, with her dark hair pulled severely into a bun at the back of her head. She rides out of the city gates to meet them on a white horse and River resists the urge to roll her eyes heavenward at the ridiculous theatrics.

 

Slowing to a stop in front of her, Tasha lowers the reigns of her horse and dismounts, sliding from the back of the massive animal and landing elegantly on her feet. She arranges her black skirts around her and tilts her head, eyeing her primly. “River.”

 

Biting her tongue at the slight, River mirrors her movements by dropping from the saddle of her horse and letting her booted feet hit the ground. Hand falling to her sword, she says icily, “Tash.”

 

Eyes narrowing, Tasha lifts her chin. “You’ve been busy, I hear. What a name you’ve made for yourself.” She smiles thinly. “Your dear mentor would be proud.”

 

“Hmm.” River pretends to inspect her nails, carefully concealing the furious tremor of her fingers. “Well, I’m sure you would know more than most.”

 

That infuriatingly smug expression fades from Tasha’s bony face. “I had nothing to do with General Kovarian’s unfortunate reign.”

 

River feels her lip curl. “She was your sister.”

 

Nodding shortly, Tasha looks past River’s shoulder at the Seer lingering behind her and River resists the urge to step in front of him and block her view. “And I washed my hands of her a long time ago. Our ideals have never been aligned.”

 

Eyes narrowed, River purses her lips. “I don’t believe you.”

 

Tasha blinks at her and a slow, cold smile settles in the corners of her thin lips. “That does present a problem, doesn’t it?”

 

River smiles through her teeth. “For you, yes.”

 

“Wait.”

 

She shuts her eyes at the sound of her Seer’s anxious voice, asking herself for the nth time since they’d left camp why she hadn’t just tied him up and left him there. Might have even been fun. It’s far too late for such regrets now. He steps hastily around her, his hands outstretched and his pleading eyes searching hers.

 

“River,” he says quietly, looking at her like they’re alone in the world. Like there isn’t an entire army at her back and a Queen that deserves to be strung up in front of her. “Talk to her. Please. You don’t have to do this. You can make peace with Trenzalore and let this go. This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

 

“You forget your place,” she hisses. Her hands curl into fists and her nostrils flare as she glowers at him, ignoring everyone else for the moment. “You will not tell me how to rule.”

 

He smiles faintly. “I would never dare. But your kingdom needs you, River. Not another war to fight.”

 

Tasha clears her throat and River tears her gaze away from her Seer to fix her with a glare. “Your treasonous servant boy is talking sense, River. You should listen to him.” She steps closer, her arm outstretched and her dark eyes intent on Theta. “I would hate to have to kill such a pretty thing on the battlefield. Right in front of you, no less.”

 

River steps between them with a growl, one of her hands immediately curling around the hilt of her sword. The other pushes Theta behind her. “If you _dare_ touch my Seer, I will disembowel you with my bare hands,” she snarls, and when her hand finds his, Theta squeezes her fingers reassuringly. “Do we understand each other?”

 

Tasha says nothing for a long moment, studying River standing like a shield in front of her Seer with a knowing smirk on her face. “Very well,” she finally sighs, though her eyes still linger on the Seer’s hand snug in River’s. “We fight at dawn, yes?”

 

At River’s terse nod, she climbs back onto her horse and rides through the gates, disappearing as they slide shut behind her with heavy finality. When she’s out of sight, River huffs through her nose and finally turns to scold her idiot Seer for getting in the way when she notices his wide eyes – fixed on their joined hands. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

 

She frowns, following his gaze. It occurs to her that his hand feels far too warm in hers and that she’d never noticed before how wonderfully soft his skin is. The thought makes her stop short, her breath catching painfully in her chest. As her eyes finally take in the sight of their hands clinging to one another, she belatedly remembers that she hadn’t put on gloves that morning and neither had Theta.

 

For the very first time, they’re truly touching.


	8. loose lips sink ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d touched him. Without even a moment of hesitation she had reached out and touched her Seer like she did it every single day. She had just ruined her greatest advantage in this war without even trying. And worse than that, most embarrassingly, that isn’t even what’s truly upsetting her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there's only an epilogue left:)
> 
> Chapter title from Cherry Tree by the National.

Silence has never felt quite so loud. River paces the length of her tent, her hand tangled in her curls and her mind racing with the implications of what she has done. By comparison, her Seer is a calm sea. He perches on the edge of her bed, watching wordlessly as River quietly frets herself into a rage.

 

She’d touched him. Without even a moment of hesitation she had reached out and touched her Seer like she did it every single day. She had just ruined her greatest advantage in this war without even trying. And worse than that, most embarrassingly, that isn’t even what’s truly upsetting her.

 

She had taken something from him. True, her Seer considered his gift more of a curse, but he had his reasons for keeping it and she had taken that away from him. In a way, she can’t help but feel that she had violated him somehow. The thought makes her sick to her stomach.

 

Pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, River keeps her back to her Seer – her former Seer, now – and whispers through her fingertips, “I never meant to…” She swallows, shaking her head. “I’m truly sorry, Theta.”

 

“Why?”

 

She drops her hand from her mouth and turns to stare at him incredulously. “I took away your penance. I violated your trust in me. I touched you -” She stops, noticing with bewilderment the smile growing on his face. “What is the matter with you? Why are you _smiling_?”

 

“Because you’re so much better than you seem to think you are.” He keeps grinning at her like she hasn’t just taken away his very identity and River has the most bizarre urge to slap him silly. “You keep insisting you only care about my visions but if that were true you’d be furious right now for losing them. But here you are, apologizing to me.” His smile softens into something unfamiliar and tender that makes her eyes sting. “You were wrong, River. You’re going to be so beloved.”

 

She shakes her head, blinking rapidly. “I _am_ furious with you. But not about your visions.” She tries to glare at him but it feels rather ineffective with tears still filling her eyes. Her vision blurs but she can see him rise from the bed and approach her cautiously. “You should never have gotten between us. You have no idea how dangerous a woman like Tasha is.”

 

Theta reaches for her and she almost pulls away before she remembers it doesn’t matter anymore. Breath caught in her throat, she lets him touch her face, his soft fingertips stroking her cheekbone, and her eyes flutter shut. “I wasn’t going to leave you, River. You still haven’t totally recovered from what happened at Libris. She could have killed you easily.”

 

“Then so be it.” Her eyes snap open and she smacks his hand away from her face, glaring ferociously at him. Infuriatingly, Theta only eyes her with calm amusement. “I was supposed to die anyway. And my death would be far preferable to -” She stops abruptly, clenching her teeth in an effort to keep the sentimental words from spilling out of her mouth.

 

Theta watches her closely and when his hand lifts to tuck her hair behind her ear, like now that he’s allowed he simply can’t help himself, she allows it. His soft hazel eyes search hers curiously. “Preferable to what, River?”

 

Her vision begins to blur again and her lips quiver, the words tumbling from behind her teeth against her will. “Losing you,” she whispers.

 

In the end, she has no idea who decides to close that last careful distance between them and crush their mouths together but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that her clumsy, beautiful prophet has his soft mouth pressed to hers and there is no reason at all not to give in.

 

His hands tremble against her face and he kisses her with an underlying hesitance that disappears the moment River curls her hand into his hair and moans, pressing herself against him. He breathes out shakily against her lips and when River pulls away, his mouth chases after hers. A smile blooms across her face and she cradles the back of his head in her palm, nudging his eager mouth open with her tongue and delving inside to taste him.

 

 _Oh_.

 

She digs her nails into his scalp and Theta whimpers, holding her close. He tastes just like she’d imagined in the brief moments she had allowed herself to think about kissing him. He tastes like summertime and possibilities, like an innocence the world lost a long time ago. She wonders briefly, worriedly, what she must taste like to him. If he tastes blood and ash in his mouth when he kisses her. Theta clutches her to him and whispers her name reverently against her lips and her worries crumble at her feet.

 

Her hands move of their own accord, tugging impatiently at his clothes in her eagerness to feel his bare skin under her hands but Theta freezes in her arms and she stops at once. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his chin. “We don’t have to -”

 

“No.” His grip on her tightens, his fingertips digging into her skin. He sets his jaw. “I want to. I just - I’ve never -”

 

“Of course you haven’t.” She lifts her head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be gentle.”

 

He snorts, the anxiety fading from his eyes as he peers down at her. “Not a day in your life, River Song.”

 

She laughs and when his mouth finds hers again, his hesitation disappears. River undresses him slowly, still wary of startling him again, but it’s difficult to remember to take things slow when he steps out of his trousers so shyly.

 

His clothes pile up on the floor and River guides him toward the bed until he trips and pulls her backwards with him. Clutching at each other and laughing breathlessly, they tumble onto her bed and it’s suddenly impossible to think about anything but her Seer laid out beneath her bare of anything but a goofy, timid smile.

 

Dressing gown gathered around her knees, River straddles his thighs and stares down at him fondly. She’ll never understand why he doesn’t hate her for all the things she’s done – to him and to others – but she’ll never doubt him again. How can she when he’s letting her see him like this? When he’s giving her what he’s been so afraid to give to anyone else?

 

She presses a shaking hand over his chest, admiring him in the soft candlelight. Her Seer is all youthful, pale skin flushed with desire. His body is lean and lanky, lightly muscled and dotted with the occasional freckle she longs to trace with her tongue. “Beautiful,” she whispers, and lowers her head to press a kiss over his heart.

 

She hears him swallow and feels his fingers fidget against her hips, like he wants to touch her but hasn’t quite gotten used to knowing he can. “I’m hardly an expert,” he whispers, his breath stirring the curls by her ear. “But I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

 

“Oh?” She reaches for the belt on her dressing gown, unknotting it and letting the silk fabric slip slowly down her bare shoulders. It slides down her arms and River lets it drop off the side of the bed, turning back to find her Seer staring at her with wide eyes. His mouth has gone slack, those pretty pink lips of his the same shade as his cheeks. She smirks. “Well, get on with it then.”

 

He gulps audibly, the high flush on his cheekbones deepening as he gazes at her with dark eyes. “River,” he breathes out, and there is so much awe and reverence in the sound of his voice that she feels her eyes begin to well up. “I don’t even know where to start.”

 

“Wherever you like,” she promises, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. She wants his hands on her desperately but rushing him is out of the question. She just watches him patiently, the way his fingertips trace the hollow of her throat and his eyes linger hungrily on her chest, like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. She takes his hand in hers, guiding it gently from her knee to her breast. Theta holds his breath, his hand trembling as he cups her in his palm, and River melts. “It’s all right, sweetie. Take your time.”

 

He sets his jaw, her brave Seer, and strokes his thumb across her nipple. Her breath hitches but she bites her lip hard, wary of scaring him off. His pinky slides out and caresses the curve of her breast, tentatively stroking the underside. “Soft,” he murmurs in fascination, and she swallows a smile.

 

He grows bolder or perhaps he’s just curious, his tongue darting out to lick cautiously between her breasts, lapping at the sweat already beading on her skin. The rough slide of his inquisitive tongue startles a quiet moan from her and she arches into his mouth. Theta looks up quickly, his sharp eyes assessing her in silence for a moment before he says, “Tell me what you like.”

 

River cards her fingers through his hair, resting her forehead against his and gazing into his earnest eyes. “You touching me,” she confesses, swallowing thickly. “Anywhere.”

 

His eyes darken and she fights back a shiver to see such naked want on the face of her chaste prophet. He ducks his head and there’s no hiding a shocked gasp of pleasure when his hot, shy mouth envelopes her nipple. He caresses it slowly with his tongue, as if mapping and memorizing her by taste alone. She thinks of him using that focus between her thighs and shudders, tangling her fingers in his hair and hissing out, “Oh yes, honey. Just like that.”

 

Theta hollows his cheeks and sucks, his perfect mouth and just the right amount of suction making her cry out and buck against him. Still doing her best to take things slowly for his sake, she hasn’t dared touch him just yet but he’s been hard against her thigh since she straddled him. Breath caught in her throat, she finally lets herself rut against him and Theta twitches beneath her, a choked whimper escaping his mouth. He stifles the noise by sinking his teeth down on her nipple.

 

River moans, her eyes falling shut and her head dropping back in ecstasy. “ _More_.”

 

Theta scrapes his teeth experimentally over her skin again and River shudders, her mouth falling open. It’s impossible not to grind her hips against him and he chokes out a strangled gasp, bucking helplessly into her. She clenches her fingers in his hair and teases him with a sensuous roll of her hips. His thin frame goes taut and Theta grips her to him, rutting eagerly against her. His erection presses right against her slippery core and River stifles a scream, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and wishing with all her might she could forget all about _slow_ and pin him to the bed until they’re both a sweaty, trembling heap.

 

She grips his hair between her clenched fingers, liquid heat pooling in her belly, and when Theta gives her another of those pitiful whimpering moans, she _wants_ so badly she thinks she might go insane with it. But _no_. This isn’t some hurried shag for her own pleasure. This isn’t using Ramone to satiate her needs before rolling over to sleep. This is her prophet. This is love. And she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take her time.

 

Releasing him with a grunt of effort, River scrambles off of her Seer and silently mourns the loss of such delicious friction and heat. Kneeling beside him on the bed, she struggles to regain control of herself, drawing in deep lungfuls of air and clenching her hands in the sheets.

 

Theta stares at her, panting wordlessly, his fringe drooping into his eyes. “River?”

 

“I’m fine, sweetie.” She winks at him, drawing him close once more only when she trusts herself not to climb on top of him and shag him senseless. “Just don’t want this to be over for you too quickly.”

 

He flushes and she laughs low in her throat, pressing a kiss to his cheek and falling onto her back. She tugs him with her, splaying herself out beneath him in silent permission for him to do what he will. Theta surprises her – one day, she’ll stop being surprised that he isn’t quite like anyone else – by not trying to devour all of her at once.

 

He gazes down at her like she’s a particularly lovely sculpture he wants desperately to understand, tracing his fingertips along her collarbone and dipping them between her breasts. He stops just above her navel, outlining the scar there, and glances at her through his lashes. “Where did you get this?”

 

“A parting gift from Kovarian,” she says, forcing lightness into her voice as she avoids his gaze. “Something to remember her by, I suppose.”

 

Theta says nothing, his eyes soft as he presses his lips tenderly to the scar. Warmth blooms in her chest, girlish and innocent. When he touches her like that, she feels like the Queen she’s never truly been. His fingertips find another one along her outer thigh. “And this one?”

 

She frowns, trying to remember. “I think I got it in a battle outside of Demon’s Run. Fell off my horse and onto an axe.”

 

He kisses that one too and then he moves on to the next one and the next. Theta maps every single scar on her body and kisses them all – including her newest one. The one that was supposed to kill her. He covers her with his mouth and his body until it simply isn’t possible to see herself any other way but how he sees her – flawed but so very worthy. Beloved.

 

Theta props his chin on her abdomen and gazes up at her with soft eyes. He acts as though he has all the time in the world and she isn’t used to such unhurried intimacy. It’s… nice. More than nice. It makes her feel adored and worshipped in a way no throne or jewel-encrusted crown ever has. Still, it’ll take some getting used to. “I have a secret,” he whispers. “Do you want to hear it?”

 

“All of them,” she promises, and traces a fingertip down his nose.

 

He grins at her. “I’ve been thinking about this for months.”

 

She stares at him, raising a delighted eyebrow. “You? My virgin Seer? You’ve been imagining getting me into bed for months?”

 

Flushing instantly, Theta nudges her with his chin and amends, “Well, not this exactly.” He seeks out her gaze, sobering quickly. “I just wanted to touch you. River, you have no idea… Something as simple as fantasizing about touching your hand could drive me mad.”

 

She knows the feeling. Touch between them has been forbidden for so long that every caress now is magnified in its intensity. All he has to do is trace a fingertip across her belly and she melts into the sheets. They’ve been burning in silence for so long, wanting but never daring to take. Until now.

 

His hands drift up her thighs and River parts her legs eagerly, panting up at the ceiling. Taking it slow has its merits but gods above, she’s ready to move things along now. Her body aches for his, everything inside her straining toward him – her Seer and her guidepost.

 

Theta’s shy fingertips stroke through the curls between her thighs and find her slick folds. His thumb traces over her swollen clit and he asks, “Is this all right?” She almost laughs, reaching between them to wrap her fingers around his wrist and press him harder against her. “More than all right, sweetie.”

 

Long, clever fingers glide through her wetness and Theta stifles a groan against the hollow of her throat. “Gods, River. You’re so -”

 

She nods hurriedly, thoroughly aware that he’s done nothing more than kiss her battle scars and she has utterly soaked the sheets. He slips one finger tentatively inside her, as if afraid he might hurt her, but his confidence grows when River lets out a sharp cry and pleads for more. Every man or woman who has ever been in her bed would say the same thing – the Queen does not beg, she demands. Tonight, wrapped up in her bedsheets with her Seer, she does everything but get down on her knees.

 

Theta sinks another finger inside her, watching her face avidly and whispering quiet words of wonder. His voice is deep and rough as his lips move against her skin, marveling at how warm and wet she is, the way she flutters around him, how he loves the noises she makes when he touches her clit. He’s still such an innocent, so gentle and sweet, but River has never been so wet in her life.

 

She turns her head, lightheaded and dazed as he works his fingers in and out of her, and reaches blindly for him. She grasps his face in her hands, kissing him slow and filthy and bless him, Theta loses all of his focus the moment her lips touch his.

 

He drags his wet fingertips up her sides and digs them into the dip of her waist. He breathes shakily against her mouth and nuzzles his nose against her cheek when they part. “I like kissing,” he whispers, as though surprised by the revelation. His eyes are still dark and clouded with desire. “Kissing is nice.”

 

River smiles and drapes her leg around his waist. She had never cared much for kissing before, always far too impatient to get to the main event. Kissing had been too intimate but now… “Kissing _you_ is nice.”

 

He beams at her. “True.” He brushes his nose playfully against hers. “Don’t think I’d enjoy it quite so much with just anyone.”

 

Her heart warm and the heat between her legs throbbing, River smoothes his hair from his forehead and purrs, “Good answer.”

 

Without warning, she wraps her other leg around his waist and flips them over, pinning Theta between her and the bed. He stares up at her with a pout, some complaint no doubt on his tongue, but he chokes on his words when River reaches between them and takes him in hand. She curls her fingers around the velvet hardness of his length and Theta releases a strangled whimper. He gazes at her like she holds his heart in her hands rather than his cock and she isn’t prepared for the rush of possessiveness that washes over her. She’s the first person to ever touch him like this.

 

 _And the last_ , her jealous mind whispers. Theta murmurs her name like he agrees.

 

River shifts her hips, glancing questioningly at her Seer. He swallows and nods quickly, only one word on his tongue. “Please.”

 

As she takes him inside, the urge to toss back her head and moan loud enough to shake the heavens is undeniable but nothing in the world could tear her eyes away from the sight of Theta feeling her around him for the first time. His eyes flutter shut and his full lips part, a wordless cry caught in his mouth. His hands grip her hips so tightly she’ll carry the bruises for days, a reminder that some battles are not fought with swords.

 

She takes him all the way in, her clit pressing deliciously against his abdomen and Theta so deep inside her she can’t catch her breath. Everything is Theta – the air she breathes, the rush of pleasure coursing through her veins and forming a white-hot knot of desire in her belly, the ringing in her ears. He’s everywhere and there is no escape. There hasn’t been for a long time.

 

She moves steadily over him, relishing his every bitten off groan and whimpered plea. Theta grips her to him, guiding her movements with shaking hands as he looks up at her like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch her. His muscles tense under her hands and his thighs tremble and she knows he won’t last long. She doesn’t expect him to.

 

Nudging her hips eagerly against his, River cradles him to her and whispers _it’s all right, my love_ and _let go now_. It’s tender and passionate and worlds apart from the rough tumbles after battle she’s used to but she can’t deny that even lately with Ramone pinned under her, she’s been imagining hazel eyes and gentle, fidgeting hands.

 

Beneath her, his desperate thrusts grow uneven and forceful, pushing him deliciously deeper inside. River cries out sharply, her nails creating welts across his chest and stomach. Her sex pulses with a release just out of her reach. Even her bones seem to burn with the need to have him closer. _Closer_.

 

Her whole body shaking, she grasps blindly for Theta’s hand, guiding him between her thighs. Her clever Seer catches on beautifully. He strokes his fingers over her swollen flesh, gazing earnestly and lovingly up at her, and River gives herself over to the heaving, molten heat spreading through her veins like wildfire.

 

She hears her voice crack mid-scream, breaking off into a wordless keening cry that no doubt leaves the entire camp privy to what is happening in her tent but River is too far gone to care. She suddenly understands perfectly just what Theta’s visions must have felt like – the overwhelming ache, the spark of something untouchable in her crackling mind, and then her eyes roll back in her head because dear gods, she can see everything now.

 

Her body flutters wildly, _violently_ , around him. Theta chokes on a cry, losing control entirely. Quivering arms wrapped tight around her, he buries his face in her sweat-damp neck and comes with a helpless whimper, her name the only thing he can remember. “River,” he breathes. “River, River…”

 

“I’m here,” she whispers, collapsing against his chest and cradling him close. “I’m here, sweetie.”

 

Everything hurts. She’s hellishly sore and her bruised ribs feel like they might possibly be on fire and there’s an uncomfortable stickiness between her thighs but Theta falls against his pillow and smiles breathlessly up at the ceiling. He lays sprawled across her bed covered in love bites, his hair mussed and his eyes dazed. He reaches instantly for her hand, his voice rough as he murmurs, “Blimey.”

 

River hides a smile and kisses his chest. She’s never felt better.

 

-

 

It’s only been a few hours but as he curls around River in her bed, Theta can’t help but wonder when he’ll stop expecting another vision. They’ve been with him nearly as long as he can remember, lingering on the edges of his subconscious and threatening to overtake him at any moment. He doesn’t know what to do now that his mind belongs solely to the present. River rests her head on his chest, her curls tickling his skin, and he presses a kiss to her temple.

 

He’ll get used to it, he decides giddily. The present is amazing.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

He smiles at the sound of River’s sleepy voice. She’s been dozing lightly in his arms for over an hour but his mind has been far too busy to let him rest. “I was thinking about how right you were.” He dances his fingertips along her spine and River hums, arching into him and pressing more of her bare skin against his.

 

“You know,” she muses, closing her eyes again. “You’re very good at this for a virgin.”

 

“Not really a virgin anymore,” he points out, and she giggles. River Song – scourge of the land – giggles. Theta bites back a hysterical laugh of his own and stares at her head pillowed on his chest, completely besotted.

 

“How could I forget?” She wonders, smirking into his skin. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

He snorts.

 

River nudges him. “Well go on. What was I right about? It happens so often, sweetie. You’ll have to be specific.”

 

“My visions,” he explains softly, staring at the canvas ceiling of their tent. “Or rather, why I kept them. I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t have a reason to keep people away. I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”

 

She kisses his chest. “You won’t hurt me.”

 

Theta tries to smile. “Course not. You’re the one who carries the sword.” He squirms when River pinches him, swatting her hand away. “And what’s going on in that magnificent head of yours, eh? I know you weren’t sleeping.”

 

“You don’t know anything anymore.” Apparently still feeling rather violent, River nips at his skin and Theta bites his lip. “No visions, remember?”

 

“Yeah, but I know you.” He turns his face into hers, pressing a smacking kiss against her cheek that makes her laugh again. “You weren’t sleeping, you were thinking.”

 

She sighs and he regrets pressing her as he watches the smile fade from her face. “I was thinking of what will happen after this is over. When there’s no one else to fight and I have to be a proper Queen.” She slips her arm around his waist and he almost flinches before he remembers she can touch him now. He’ll never have to wonder what her hand would feel like again. “I haven’t the slightest idea how to rule in peacetime.”

 

“I have no doubt you’ll be brilliant,” he whispers, hugging her to his side. “And…” He hesitates, licking his lips. “I’ll be right beside you, if you like.”

 

“Of course I’d like.” River huffs, elbowing him gently. “Idiot.”

 

He hides a grin in her hair and breathes in the scent of her – sunflowers and fresh water and the polish she uses to shine her armor. “Just checking -”

 

River pulls out of his grip and sits up, her whole body tense as she stares intently into space. He frowns, reaching for her, but she shrugs out of his grasp. “Do you hear that?”

 

“Hear what?”

 

She shushes him and he sighs, listening. The moment he actually starts paying attention to something other than River, he realizes she’d been right. He can definitely hear something. The same thing he has heard every night in his sleep since joining River’s army – the distant clashing of swords.

 

River is out of bed in seconds, hurriedly throwing on her dressing gown and tying the sash. “Stay here, Theta,” she snaps, and snatches up her sword. Without waiting for a reply, she charges out of the tent with her blade over her shoulder.

 

He gapes after her, stumbling out of bed and diving for his trousers on the floor. “Stay here, Theta,” he grumbles, pulling a face as he tugs his tunic over his head. “Thinks because she’s the Queen she can boss me about. Ha.”

 

He steps outside barefoot, immediately assaulted with the scent of burning torches and the sound of clashing swords. The whole camp has been overrun and he spots River through the chaos, fighting off two soldiers at once in her dressing gown.

 

Ducking and weaving through the melee, he runs straight for her. River growls the moment she spots him, tugging him roughly behind her and shoving her sword through her opponent’s chest cavity. “I told you to stay away. What are you doing?”

 

He presses his back against hers, scanning for approaching trouble. “Helping!”

 

“You can’t even lift a sword.” She bumps her hip against his. “Get back inside before you trip over your trouser hem and impale yourself.”

 

“That’s _really_ rude.” He bumps her back, glancing at her over his shoulder. “And we’ve already established I’m not leaving you. Now, who are these people?”

 

River blocks an oncoming attack from a short, stocky soldier with her sword and Theta has no idea where she’d gotten the knife she usually keeps in her boot but she uses it to slice his throat open. He grimaces, looking away. “Tasha’s men.”

 

“What?” He yelps, ducking a swinging sword. He watches River snarl and gut the man in retaliation, vicious in her rage. Blood paints her dressing gown and the right side of her face. “She said dawn. If she actually wants peace, why would she attack in the middle of the night?”

 

River steps on the spine of the man she’d just eviscerated, using his body as leverage to pounce on the back of a passing soldier. Theta pointedly keeps his eyes averted, listening with a cringe to the gruesome sound of bloody gurgling. “Because,” River says, gritting her teeth as she hops down and lets the man’s limp body hit the ground. “She saw me touch you.”

 

He blinks at her, watching her stoop to wipe her blade in the grass. “What?”

 

River sighs, rising fluidly back to her feet just in time to trip another opponent and stab him in the back. “She knew you’d lost your powers and she knew you wouldn’t see an attack coming so she took advantage of it. Still want to make peace with that little wench?”

 

“Yes.” He takes her hand, heedless of the blood staining her fingers, and presses a kiss to her palm. “But not for her. For you, River. For your kingdom.”

 

He drops her hand and darts out of her reach, sprinting for the wooden table near the fire where River’s men like to play cards and squabble over their winnings. He leaps onto it, wobbling dangerously for a moment before he finds his balance. Straightening his tunic, he runs a hand through his ruffled hair and looks out over the battlefield Tasha’s men have made of their camp.

 

Waving his arms to get their attention, he calls out, “Oi! Listen you lot, all running about with your little swords. It’s really very distracting so could you just stand still a minute because _I am talking_.” He looks out over the sea of bloodied faces, pleased to see that everyone has stopped fighting to stare at the nutter shouting from a tabletop in his bare feet. “The question of the hour is now that I’m out of commission, who has control over the fate of England? The answer is _still_ River Song. Next question, who’s coming to take it from her?”

 

River stands on the outskirts of the crowd, frozen in place with her sword gripped in her hand. She stares at him like she can’t decide if she wants to yank him down before he gets himself killed or whether she actually wants to hear what he has to say. Thankfully, her indecision leaves her rooted to the spot. _What are you doing?_ she mouths.

 

He hasn’t the faintest idea. _A thing_ , he mouths back.

 

“Come on, look at her.” He gestures toward River with a nod, hiding a smile when she glares. “No plan, no Seer. Oh, but there is one thing.” He holds up a hand, smirking. “So if your Queen Tasha is sitting up there in her silly little castle with her silly little plans to defeat River Song then perhaps she should remember that I may have lost my power but River hasn’t. Remember all those who came before you – every undefeated army who thought they could topple her. Remember where they are now.”

 

Silence fills the camp and he watches smugly as all of Tasha’s men exchange uneasy glances. He sees them take stock of their surroundings – River and her army still standing tall and proud while half of their numbers have already been decimated.

 

“Now,” he claps his hands together and eyes them all coldly, wondering if he’s just signed his death warrant or saved them all. “Unless you want to join them in obscurity, I suggest you toddle home and let someone else try first.”

 

To his complete astonishment, he watches from his perch on the old wooden table as Tasha’s men exchange one last glance and begin to retreat. They file out of camp with their metaphorical tails tucked between their legs, casting a blood-painted River terrified glances on their way out. She and her army stare after them in dumbfounded silence until Theta hops clumsily from his perch and salutes their retreating forms.

 

“Well,” he says, dusting off his hands. “That might give us a few hours -”

 

River drops her sword and marches right up to him, her eyes glittering and fierce as she grasps him by the back of the neck and hauls him near enough to crash her mouth violently against his. He stumbles into her, his arms windmilling for a moment before he settles into the kiss and clings to her hips. He doesn’t flinch from the blood on her hands and clothes, whinging a little into her mouth as her teeth nip hungrily at his bottom lip.

 

She’s grinning when she pulls away, her eyes dark. “Idiot,” she breathes. “You are so lucky that worked.”

 

“A short term solution,” he says grimly, even while he preens just a bit on the inside. It’s rare that the tables turn and he gets to save River instead of the other way around. She’s the knight in shining armor in this relationship, not him. “We need a plan. Quickly.”

 

“Right.” She gives him one last heated look before releasing him, turning to face her men. “Octavian, we have battle plans to look over. Ramone, get everyone -” She trails off, watching Ramone turn away and retreat with a scowl. “Where is he going? Honestly, now is not the time for a bloody tantrum.”

 

Theta takes her hand and squeezes it. “You’re not an easy woman to let go of, dear.” He winks at her when she huffs. “Talk to him.”

 

She shakes her head. “Sweetie, I don’t have time for this -”

 

“You do if you want to win this.” He nudges her fondly in the direction Ramone had gone. “You’ll need his support. Now go scare him into submission.”

 

River grumbles under her breath as she goes and it’s hardly encouraging when he sees her pick up her sword before she marches off into the trees after Ramone but well, Ramone is a soldier. He can look after himself. Hopefully.

 

It’s with a sinking heart that he turns his attention back to River’s soldiers and notices that a few of them seem to share Ramone’s disgust, including River’s advisor Octavian. The older man sneers at him as he stalks past, muttering _what a waste_ under his breath. Theta stares after him with a frown but there isn’t time to worry about support for River – someone claps him hard on the back.

 

He startles like a frightened deer. Getting used to being touched is going to take some time. Turning to glare at whoever had taken such liberties, he wilts at once when he sees Vastra’s knowing smile. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” she says.

 

Standing beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized tunic, Nardole frowns. “You said you’d been wanting to slap him but I thought you meant his face.”

 

“Oh, I did.” Vastra smirks at him, ignoring Theta’s half-hearted glower. “But I suppose that’s out of the question now that he’s the Queen’s favorite pet.”

 

Theta bristles. “I’m not a pet. I’m…”

 

Vastra quirks an eyebrow, green eyes glittering with amusement. “What?”

 

He huffs. “I don’t know what I am but I’m not that.”

 

“Seem like a pet,” Nardole mutters, and it’s only his mild tone and pleasant demeanor that keep Theta from feeling insulted. It’s difficult to be angry with Nardole, who only speaks his mind when he’s trying to be helpful. “Sleep beside her bed and get your tummy rubbed, don’t you?”

 

Vastra coughs delicately, hiding a snort.

 

“That’s not how it works.” Theta scowls. “All right, it might work like that. A bit. Shut up.”

 

Nardole shrugs. “Not to say I don’t think you’re good enough for Her Majesty. Always thought so.”

 

“Oh, don’t pretend you knew.” He sniffs, smoothing back his hair. “We’ve barely even begun anything -”

 

Vastra coughs again, eyeing him with prim incredulity. “The entire camp knew months ago. In fact, I believe those who are sore about the matter are simply put out because they lost their bets.”

 

“Bets?”

 

“Yes, on when you would lose your ability and how furious the Queen would be with you.” Vastra blinks at him innocently. “Most of us bet it would be in a fit of passion between the two of you but there were some – namely Octavian and Ramone – who bet you would simply trip and fall into someone by accident and the Queen would behead you in a fit of temper.”

 

Theta gulps. “Yes, well. At least they’re imaginative.”

 

Vastra smirks. “Luckily for you, it seems to have gone the other way.”

 

He shakes his head, unable to hide his exasperated grin. “Impossible, the lot of you.”

 

“Speaking of impossible…” Vastra frowns, inclining her head.

 

Theta follows the line of her gaze, surprised to see River emerging from the trees already. She stalks past him still carrying her sword and he scans the blade for signs of Ramone’s innards. It looks mercifully clean and he stares after her as she marches toward her tent. “Seer,” she calls over her shoulder. “With me.”

 

Exchanging a puzzled glance with Vastra and Nardole, Theta abandons his friends and wanders off after River. He steps around the bodies of soldiers that still need to be carted off and burned, pushing his way past more of River’s men and ducking into her tent.

 

Finding her at a table covered in battle plans, hunched over her maps with a half mad look in her eyes, he approaches cautiously. “River?” He asks, quietly taking the seat beside her. “What happened with Ramone?”

 

“Nothing.” She doesn’t look at him, her unruly curls slipping over her eyes and obscuring half of the map she studies. “He may be a jealous moron but he’s right. Tasha will strike again with more men than ever and unless I come up with something impressive, I’ve lost this war just as we were about to end it. And all for-”

 

He shuts his eyes when she stops abruptly, the words catching in her throat. “All for what, River? Me?”

 

At the feel of her calloused palm against his cheek, he risks a peek at her though his lashes and finds her watching him with a soft, tremulous smile. “I don’t regret it. That’s the worst part, sweetie. I’ve cost my kingdom everything but how can I regret you?”

 

He shakes his head, clasping her hand pressed to his cheek. “You haven’t cost your people anything, River. Nothing is lost.”

 

“Your visions -”

 

“You don’t need them.” He searches out her gaze, waiting patiently until she looks him in the eye. “You were winning without me before.”

 

“Yes, but Trenzalore’s army is vast, sweetie. I avoided them until now for a reason.” She pulls free of his touch, turning once more to stare at the maps laid out in front of her on the table. The defeat in her voice makes his skin prickle. “I don’t have enough men to fight her. I was counting on your visions to give me an edge but I’ve lost that now.”

 

He sighs, watching her frown at her maps and scribble out strategies across the Atlantic. Tugging at his fringe and wrestling with his building frustration, Theta slams a palm against the table. River doesn’t jump but she pauses in the middle of jotting a note across Scotland to raise an eyebrow at him.

 

“Is there something you need to say? Make it quick.” She gestures impatiently to her maps. “I’m not sure if you noticed, honey, but I have a war to fight and not the faintest idea how to win without a seer.”

 

“River, listen to me. War may be all you’ve ever known but it isn’t all there is. It isn’t the only answer to this.” He gazes at her pleadingly, tugging the quill from her hand and grasping her fingers in his own. “Arrange a meeting. Talk with Tasha and make peace with Trenzalore. It _can_ be done and you’re the one to do it.”

 

She shakes her head stubbornly, fuzzy golden curls bouncing against her shoulders. It’s only then that he notices she’s still in her torn and filthy dressing gown. There’s blood still under her nails. “Trenzalore was a part of Kovarian’s territory. Tasha was her sister, for god’s sake.”

 

“Well Kovarian is dead now, River,” he points out, clinging to his patience. “What does it matter?”

 

She tightens her jaw, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child instead of a Queen. “She deserves to pay.”

 

“Ah,” he murmurs, eyeing her with enough disappointment to make her falter. “So this is about vengeance then, is it? I thought you wanted what’s best for your kingdom.”

 

River stares at him wordlessly.

 

Theta squeezes her fingers. “I know you think you need my visions to win but you never did. You want to predict the future, River? Create it. Make your own fate. You’ve done it once before. I saw you die, remember? _I saw it_. And yet you’re sitting right here.” He presses a hand to the side of her face, tugging her close and pressing his forehead against hers. He lets the admiration and wonder he feels seep into his voice. “You’re alive because you’re too stubborn and strong to die.”

 

She leans into his palm, a choked laugh caught in her throat.

 

He smiles, stroking his thumb reverently across her cheek. “You’ve made your own destiny time and time again, River. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn’t ever become Kovarian but that’s a decision you’re going to have to make over and over again. It’ll be a choice every single day. And not letting her win? That is the only war worth fighting, dear.”

 

River closes her eyes, her damp lashes brushing his cheek as she leans against his chest and for once, she lets him hold her up. Theta takes her by the shoulders, brushing his lips across her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flutter open and she gazes at him wonderingly. “How?” She whispers. “How do I do it?”

 

Theta smiles at her, wide and beaming. “I have no idea.” He bops her on the nose, laughing softly when she wrinkles it and swats him away. He captures her hand in his, marveling just as he probably always will that he’s now allowed the simple gift of touch. “But I do know one thing.”

 

“Oh?” River laces their fingers together, watching with dark eyes as he presses his lips to her knuckles. Her lips curve into a smile. “See something in our future, Seer?”

 

He nods solemnly, lifting his eyes to meet hers through his fringe. “The Queen and her Seer? An enemy to defeat?” He grins. “You just watch us win.”


	9. epilogue: your face looks so sweet, even in the wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Last Romance by Raleigh Ritchie.

Peacetime is ever so dull.

 

River cradles a goblet of wine in her hand and stares listlessly out at the glittering ballroom filled with nobility. Thanks to a peace treaty with Trenzalore, she had been able to rebuild her kingdom to its former glory and Darillium has known nothing but prosperity ever since. Despite what some may always think, she truly is relieved to be able to finally give her people some good fortune.

 

That isn’t to say that she doesn’t miss fighting. _Oh_ , she does. Nothing compares to the feel of a sword in her hand and an entire army of loyal men and women at her back. The freedom those days had afforded her will be something she always looks back on with wistful longing. Even now, when she feels herself itching for a bit of bloodshed, she can feel the cold shadow of Kovarian looming large over her. War had been what she was bred for and it's been a difficult adjustment but that part of her life is over. She’s making her own way now.

 

For the most part, she has far too much to occupy her time to truly miss the battlefield often but these dreadful balls always try her patience. Wartime certainly hadn’t allowed time for such frivolities. She sets aside her untouched wine, starting for a moment when she catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass. Every time she passes a mirror and sees the crown nestled in her curls she has to stop and stare at herself. Not out of vanity, but rather a quest to find the woman everyone else seems to see. Even through all the finery - the heavy crown and the jewelry and the elaborate gowns - she never sees anything but the warrior she’s always been.

 

As the musicians begin a new melody and more dancers crowd the floor, River feels someone move to stand beside her and braces herself for another endless twirl about the room with another achingly dull nobleman. Already plotting to trod on his toes and make certain he never asks to dance with her again, she shudders at the feel of hot breath against her exposed neck and the familiar growl of a beloved voice.

 

“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”

 

She smiles, though she does her best to stifle it as she turns to face her him. In the eyes of everyone else, Theta is nothing more than a consort but to River, he'll always be her husband. She raises an eyebrow, attempting a scolding look that fails utterly in the face of his hesitant grin. “And what sort of time do you call this?”

 

Theta offers her his arm and she takes it, allowing him to sweep her onto the dance floor. The crowd parts in deference to them and River follows his lead, letting him twirl her around under the eyes of her subjects. The only time her naturally clumsy husband is ever this graceful is when he’s waltzing her around a ballroom or they’re practicing another kind of dancing in private. She has no complaints about either.

 

His hand tight on her waist, Theta draws her closer than propriety tends to allow and even now she can still see the wonder and delight on his face when they touch. She wonders if it will ever fade, if he’ll ever grown tired of something so beautifully simple.

 

They’ve both struggled since the end of the war, River because she’d never been a Queen without a sword in her hand and Theta because he no longer had his visions to contend with. They’d floundered, both feeling as if they’d lost their purpose. They’d clung to each other instead.

“Sorry I’m late, honey,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear. “That healer of yours is a hellish tutor.”

 

She hums along to the tune the musicians play, tapping her fingertips along his shoulder to watch him light up. “He only wants you to reach your potential, sweetie.” Grumbling under his breath that his potential is already brilliant thank you, Theta releases her waist to twirl her and her gown billows out around them. “Just because everyone has already started calling you Doctor doesn’t mean you actually are one yet.”

 

“You play favorites,” he accuses, pulling her back to him.

 

River fits herself snugly against his chest, knowing full well that she’s Queen and no one can stop her. “I certainly do,” she murmurs. “But not to worry, my love. You’re definitely top three.”

 

“Three?” He huffs, eyeing her with a teasing light in his eyes.

 

River smirks. “Well you were number one but when you lost your visions -”

 

“Oi and whose fault was that?”

 

“Yours.” She glares playfully. “You shouldn’t have even been there. And if you hadn’t, we’d have won the war anyway but I wouldn’t have to stare at Tasha over tea every other week.”

 

Grinning broadly now, Theta taps her fondly on the nose. “Admit it, she’s grown on you.”

 

River lifts her chin, eyes crinkling. “Never.”

 

With a low chuckle, he draws her ever nearer and River tucks her head beneath his chin. They sway together in the middle of the dance floor, noblemen and their wives whirling gracefully all around them. Wrapped in his arms, the ball doesn’t seem quite so unbearable.

 

Nothing ever seems unbearable when Theta is near. She’s certain there will always be days when she needs the heavy weight of a sword in her grip but she knows as long as she has him, she'll manage. Besides, in a few months it will be time to start training up young knights and she’ll get to practice again for a while. At least for as long as her two overprotective healers will allow.

 

As if reading her mind, Theta slips his hand along her swelling waistline and murmurs against her ear, “Top three, eh?”

 

She hums in agreement, a contented smile curling her lips.

 

Laughing softly, he presses a smacking kiss against her temple. “I suppose I can live with that.”

 

Peacetime is ever so dull but River is learning to like it.


End file.
